onefoolishline

trudging slowly over wet sand
back to the bench where your clothes were stolen
this is the coastal town
that they forgot to close down
armageddon - come armageddon
come, armageddon,com
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last night i took a bath. i set a glass of wine on my stomach and watched the red roll as i breathed in. i went under and let it washed over me. i held my eyes shut to the red.
lately, i have been waking up to an old man's voice.
"there is no green here."
there is no breathing, just wind. no glimmering light, shot in the dark acrossed a midnight sky to save my life.
i dream of burning the city with fiery wings but that damned ocean catches it all in blue. extinguished and extinct.
after the smoldering of a fire, the charred black brings the new birth of green. but there is no green here.
i burn and i burn and all i leave behind is cold black hearts, tongues, and tombs of things always left unsaid. a wild brush fire has nothing left after it rains.
it's raining now.
i'm holding this feather, my last breath is burning between calloused palms. praying for a drop.

there is no way to reason through heartbreak.