Heartache

Envoy of thought getting wreaked
at the loading zone when I try
to speak the words I’ve let become toxic.
Only half the story has passed my lips.

On the way back I fall into the folds
of the gray cement rivers where the
ants pull apart every weary substance
that can become something sweet.

So small I have become in the crack
of the world I have stepped upon.
Here I am many times in the dead of night.
Now I feel the smallness, I can relate.

Leaving is as hard as getting here,
and not the here I have described
before, but rather the here I am
working to manifest to him.

Continue on pink dump truck.
I feel everything you spill upon me.
Like surges between beats I feel it.
How weighted my paradise has become.

Comets ram into the sorest darkness
illuminating the caverns with cold light
and showing you what I really am inside;
my heart is rotting and the smell is unbearable.

In the empty walls there is space enough
for a beautiful garden; who will garden this
untamed land so full of doubt and worry?
Eden hasn’t disappeared it’s just being guarded.

Moods lining the quivering muscles of my lips;
am I transparent like a pill bottle?
So stare down the hole with eyes made of light.
This cavity needs a hand to fill it, color the void.