i bled black today
on these musty, yellow pages,
yearning for a picture, a painting,
but all i have are these words:
crooked shapes and twisted letters.
they smear and blur,
leave a blackened trail from
the corners of my mind.

spiderwebs dangle from my
creaking shuttered eyes;
floorboards groan in the shut-up
basement of my memories.

the air is stale
against my papery fingertips;
my ashes fall like snow
upon this wearied ground.

with a deep breath
i suck in the fire.

prison bars are pretty phrases
and purple imagery.
my heart flutters against my rib cage.