By Rachel Cunningham
2008
Being breathing gas fumes
The air is cold with chilly after-tones
Whispers making the brain swell
Hushed by love, drowned out by love
But not long till they scream again
In terror
Of faithfulness to evil paths
Covered in bright colors
lavished colors, piercing the eyes ever so softly
Trickling pain
As if a tear, as if a fear
But it is the stain of “perfection”
leering its head west of empty thoughts
Translucent
I almost don’t find myself there
The familiar hold, the crushing hold, I know
I know well
Well enough to not be well at all
I wish we never met….
Until meeting in the middle
On an unknowing island
Where no thoughts have been thought
And no dreams have been dreamed
What wonderful lands we could have made
All but pieces, fragments of my imagination
Loosing hopes and realities
Washing clean a trace of sanity
Who was she
No one remembers
No one can tell
No one will tell
Hush the whispers
keep them lulled
Lulled into nothing completely nothing…..