Cherry Gold

On paper it all seems like cherry gold, stained thoughts, and helpless smiles

Like birds without wings that still sing, in unison

In memories, in times, in the moments that reside

Before the ink stains through paper to the wooden

Desk; which holds in its palm wearily

The etchings of a crazed self mutilator

With spikes of noreprinine and bundled nerves

That shiver in skin, so papery thin, and wonder why

Anything needs to be explained

And heat that heavily falls from my forehead

Keeps me from opening my eyes

Because waves of red ember like air seems too much

When I tremble at the desk�" where thoughts are meant to become�"

But nothing becomes, except madness

Brewing, like a man scoffing, at clouds reaching

For the ground beneath a thousand plush fingers

And the man tears at his hair, and snorts crusted blood

Everything explodes, dynamite made of smiles and broken lead

He knows he's better off dead, but he knows moreso;

Moreso that the continuity is not continuity

These sentences are not sentences

These words are not words

These morphemes are not morphemes, or phonemes, or anything;

It is all fragmented! Never together at all!

Fragmented like greasy mutters, and twitching wings, and spasming heart strings

Like cracking necks, poorly lit mirrors, and drifting half-sleep ideas

Like a daffodil atop a split skull,

Like youre mother, not your mother, baring teeth; a wolf

Like the idea, that you will grow up, graduate, survive

And somehow in the end, you can survive

The void that isn't a void, rather the emptiness of emptiness

Where buzzing cells cease to buzz, and the hive collapses

Decay!

And this paper is coiled in between the folds of my mind

Neatly, compact, enough to get me through

The moment when blood turns cherry gold to dust

And everything else can be forgotten.