Breaking Open My Cocoon

When the moon is low, I am high.

Is it a coincidence?

When I love another, I embrace my present though

I meet dissonance that is headlined with our names in neon lights. The sound of broken harps and stomped brass

Plays the symphony of my promises.

The sound of gravel and failed suicide attempts plays like background music to my present

Like an ivory ambience of a train a mile away �"

Typing on keys like eggshells.

Noticeable, though muffled by some banal conversation.

Memories are ghosts.

That’s all they are.

That’s all they are.

They’re not real.

They’re just ghosts.

Possession is temporary.

Be calm, my mind and stay still

Upon the creeping chill that slows my decisions.

You are the answer to your own epitaph.