Ninety-Four

Semantic shackling on repeat, you’re an atomic tonic to my skin, revoking all the bits of something I used to believe in, the make-believe world I was in a habit of living in. The sky is my speaker and you are my bass, hook, line, and silent butterflies play an orchestra tight in to a music box, vanishing into shadow. Afflicted.

Before the pressure and all the unequivocal pain, swings and roundabouts I don’t want to do it again, yet here we are, chest first into your daggered love, staggering back at how shockingly quick I am to forgive, rushing back with open arms,  underestimating reasons why, you can’t keep calm, ring the alarm, focusing on the only thing I know is a lie. Conflicted.

A simple kiss snows me into an orbit of mourning, and every dawn I’m thrown into something not my calling, pieces of my life scatter like dandelion seeds in the wind, plates shake my shared earth, demanding new beginnings, let them sing I pray, petal shields and a white shroud covers my face, forgotten flow state. Exhibited.