you asked me about the sun

It comes suddenly, with a swift step that only your mothers intuition could hear,

Embedding itself inside your thinning bones.


You remember. 

You remember. 

It's glamorized cloak envelops your core, and whispers its version of "sweet nothings" into your ears.

Your mind has shattered, and your fingers shed tears as they try to put humpty together again.

The precious colorful juices ooze from your broken brain, and the world you live in fades to that all familiar gray.

I remember.

I remember.

I remember staring at the world, convinced that nothing was real.

I can vividly recall the feeling,

like  I had been cut out of one of the pages in a picture book,

 only to be  re-stuck with Elmer's glue. 

I remember that day.

I remember walking down that hallway and turning the corner,

you wore a necklace made from rope.

And the silent sway enhanced my surrounding gray,

as I choked on my saltwater tears all that day.

and ill never forget the way the loneliness caressed your ear with its tongue.

"It's only a dream" I say. Its time to get up and start my day.

.

.

.

you've all got blindfolds made from daisies covering your eyes,

And I hate to be a burden, but I seem to have lost mine. 

the sun has fried my eyes, mostly with baby blue goodbyes, and chocolate coated lies.

But I still find the time to offer out my dry cracked palms, 

I've found my wrists sting less when I try to defuse everyone else's ticking time bombs.