I relapsed, unimaginably so, into my
childhood dreams framing them
beside one another. Painstakingly I
paint, each emotion from memory in
an attempt to provide color to a greyscale that
slides ambiguously from light to shadow.
I linger, hesitant to pause, still shading the past as
moving on is a challenge that I do not willingly accept.
Furrowed chagrin colors my face
streaming profusely, still yet to be
streamlined as rough, unidentified edges
bound and actively define the
tunnels cut through tears that salt
and erode, once dimples, making stale
my favorite smile.
My uninspired attempts at masterpiece sear the tips of my fingers that charcoal infinitely onto innocent paper, scarring its symmetry with coarse words whose sounds scrape, strangely unaware of their existence, against each other etching impulse into, my, reality that of imitation mass produced norms that confound the essence of life.