Scales

A poem about an acquaintance of mine who I believe possibly has depression or deep anxiety and is treating everyone very badly because of it.

Scratch, scratch, scratch away the dragon-fire uncertainties.

These whispers have eyes; pick at the stitch in your sleeve.

I am the blue air, and you are merely God; 

clashing and reasoning on the wrong side of reality.

Flowers fall from your eyes, time sleeps beside you.

Please sketch me another dimension in a world where the pen is dark matter.

Gravity floats because you're in its grasp - 

and we all watch as you 

fall

into autumn dreamscapes and wildfires you built. 

Author's Note

Please review - I'm getting back into writing poetry and encouragement / constructive criticism is always welcome!