I used to be a writer

Piano fingers, are lobster claws. A lazy cell evolves. in reverse. Paintbrushes collecting dust slump in tin cups brown strips of rust Camera lenses giving me the eye wondering why I won’t pick up the pen and paper. or at least try. what is a feeling. internal hallucination of a sensation None of it is…

At the beach, sitting in the sand, talking to myself.

Salt water encased in glossy eyes. begging for blue drowning in air. everything before me flies yet I don’t really seem to care. Apathy flood, peace in disguise forbidden waters I have entered The stillness is a mimicked birth And I surrender at its center. Weightless I am cradled by ocean arms, a dissolving human…

Nothing.

One day I’ll decompose from your consciousness; One day you will stop looking around your apartment every morning, Seeing my paintings in both rooms, Thinking about how much I loved when you cooked biscuits and gravy for me. You’ll stop hearing me laugh at your drunken snoring, your mocking of stupid people. You’ll stop seeing…

Stupid

It’s tough finding myself again When you’ve helped me to in the first place. Weird. Now I’m in awe, Stupefied; Disappointed to have forgotten how to be me without you. Pretty terrifying to say the least; melting into someone’s existence; what a nightmare.