Can1you2see3me

The ignition timing isn't correct, but neither are we, and the verses pressed into my lips are ones of repeated severance and trickling cadence. Your long hands do not disturb the silence as they peel back my layers of frustration and indignation - slide down the curvature of indifference, across each apathetic vertebrae, and tease the very hem of all I thought to be concrete only to ease underneath it and push it away. And the words flutter hotly up my neck with no room for mercy and all I could ever do would be you.

My skin crawls in moments like these, because it realizes to a full extent that it is nothing more than a thin outline encasing the honest nature of life and creation - bones, muscles, ligaments, blood, organs - and my mind gasps in moments like those, because I realize to a panicked extent that I am so lucky to process these horrific and exhilarating emotions embodying the honest nature of humanity - solace, pride, confusion, grief, love - but I cannot take refuge anymore in what I thought was so concrete and reliable because my skin is just an outline around the jumbled composition of a feeble concept.

When the night descends into lacy violet, one views the world differently. I see stars in midnight dew. I taste the bitter copper of blood and despair. I smell a hazy dream, begging to be dragged from the darkness. I feel silky shudders and velvety solitude. The night brings the dead to life, breathes noxious words into the dormant ears of silence, stirs the restless into giddy arousal. The soul opens its nascent eyes and drinks in the new atmosphere. Life opens a gaping door. My eyes adjust to the infinite strings of the cosmos. Everything is intertwined, premeditated and tangled. The humming resonance sways me and violently obliterates m

When the night wanes and everything is a lacy violet, one views the world differently. I see stars in the window cracks. I hear ghosts humming from wispy shadows, breathing life into the subtle, cascading, dusty echo of existence. I smell a hazy dream, like an unfamiliar flower. I taste summer in the dew-christened air, riddled with humidity and unyielding promise for the future. I feel silky shudders and velvety solitude.      Mozart, I feel your chorded soul latch onto mine with its metal strings and take it with you into the night.      You show me the moon and its true whiteness, its severe contrast to the crestfallen lullaby