The banks of flowers lying beside the regurgitation
of the lake shoulder my dreams in the morning,
They breathe me in, like I do in the evening
when I patch up my sky-knit life to encounter
tragedies like a knife on steel, useless.
Waking, bring me to life, days cast
oddly like a dress size two times big.
I want to be dramatic, say I want to give up
but these cells of mine have too much inspiration,
I wonder who she is, when I find an effigy of myself
pick me from these patchwork of grass
that I want bury myself in. The sun spins
marking territory. I am not in her team. Her team
consist of only the strong and persevered faces.
I am under the stars, the same fatal shades that
encompasses their memory like bitter pills
that burn away, dying with my hands full of promises
fading in this familiar arc of sky.