Cloudy Daydream Wishes

A pastel, washed-out bunny rabbit
walking along the shore.

Long ears have fallen now, gentle ears, trailing lightly across the sand.
The absence of nothingness, but the lack of substance. The water washes on her paws.

The air isn't salty. There is no wind, no uncomfortable breeze, no disagreeable smell.
No squawking of birds. This place is not unpleasant. The clouds are not dreary, but comforting...

It is morning, a very soft morning. But yet, it is lacking something. The day stretched thin.
She feels a stirring in her chest, but does not know why.

She longs for... what is it that she longs for? What is she searching for?
She does not know. A stranger in her own heart. But she collects her scattered thoughts to wish for... to wish.

She turns her head to the horizon. White against dull blue.
She can see a place across the sea. Far off. ...Perhaps she could go there someday.

Perhaps it is warm there, perhaps, perhaps... Perhaps it is sunny and defined.
Perhaps it is bright there. Perhaps she can smile, pouring out colors like a spectrum.

Perhaps it is a good place. Not perfect, but normal.
This is what she wishes for...

Make plans to build a boat. Distant and hopeless plans.

Scuffed knees, dirty face.
Hug them close to your chest.
Body shivering under your cloak.
Eyes seem squinted from crying all day.
Red cheeks and dried tears are the remnants of feeling.

You've made your decision.

Back against the hard brick wall, in the alley.
Reach into your pocket and grab salvation.
Trembling hands hold the tiny pills,
Bittersweet salvation; can you reach it?

You once were a person, but now you're just this.
You once wore a smile, but now you wear static.
You don't deserve pity, yet you pity yourself.
A loathsome creature.
You took it all for granted.
No one left to care for you now...
No reason to stay.

Close your eyes, steel yourself.
Take a deep breath.
Swallow.

Unfinished

The soft gray light
casts upon the unlit room.
An almost eerie silver
lines the windowsills and washes on the rooftops,
fills the scenery with its numbing tinge; spreads out like sunbeams.
Watery green drips, the vines
snake around this endless place, creates substance; the trunks of trees. Fills the scene.
A dark mass is the sum of this lonesome world,
the addends are senseless.

Giving Up

She's picturesque perfect,
a red-headed angel.
She is good company,
can make people smile.
She is admirable, she is a socialite.
She is beautiful.
You must really love her.

I could never compete with her;
I don't know why I even try.
I am not beautiful, not particularly well-liked or special.
I am not a nothing, but I am awfully close.
I don't deserve you.
She deserves the moon.

I must force down the fluttering in my heart,
I must swallow this feeling.

Because if the shadows around me amount to a darkness,
that I could fall into at any moment, like a canyon,
then I couldn't handle the collateral pain,
no matter how childish.
No matter how stupid.

You are Dearly Loved

A flighty, breezy late-spring day
in which the air is warm and moves right through you.
You can feel the drum of your heart beating,
you can hear the sound of your lungs filling
with air and breathing in and out; a comforting rhythm.

Never have you ever opened your eyes so wide;
never have you been so alive,
running through the sunny street
in your little white dress and large sun hat.

You belong here to make me feel less alone
to take up space in this spacious home,
and the people you love nod towards you, check on you,
Their bodies bobbing in and out of the rooms, like felines.

The typed words carrying through the phone,
the short recordings playing just for you...
a momentary lapse in time means nothing;
we are system of smiles turning towards you, we love you.

We love you, we love you,
just know that we love you.

Mirror Observation

She is sickly, she is sad.
Her attempts at normalcy are all but feigned.
She lies to herself, she tells herself a fairytale
so that she may perhaps sleep through the night.
Her smile is a facade; her pain is endured alone,
and she chases a shadow she can never grasp, never reach, never catch.
Her eyes are insincere, her reassurances mean nothing, and her voice is inaudibly trembling.
Her life is a joke, her fate is a tragic comedy, her words are blasphemy.

Over the years, her bones have sunken into silence; she has submitted herself to the irrefutable, inescapable truth.
She sits on the patio on a cloudy, humid Sunday.
Where are you, dearest? Where did you go? is carried on the nonexistent breeze...
If she could feel that person's touch, then surely, it would all be okay.

Strong Child

For Nanny

Sitting on the playground swing,
all alone.
Shadows in the late afternoon.

Golden color spilling out on the ground. Orange-y. Getting darker, slowly.
Light is still escaping
from the clenched fist of the sun.
A feeling of dread at the base of your chest.
Your aching heart.

Soft breezes on the May green leaves.
You want to tell them how you feel, but there is no purpose in doing so.
Her words echo through the back of your head.
The endless footsteps of sadness sound, like rain on the rooftop.