Abyss/Thieves

This moment is indulging me into a haze of words that should be sprawled across a piece of paper.With the sky capturing the poetic hymns of a lonely night.

Hours fade into nothing but the ticking of the clock on the wall. And the soft hum of the ceiling fan.

Moonlight pours into the window, painting the canvas of my skin to a silver masterpiece. As if covering up every scar that’s ever been there.

The stillness in the air is thick with echoes of past words that now burn my tongue to let slip out.

The pages flip endlessly, telling me stories of its imagination.

I touch a hand to the wall, hearing it’s heartbeat.

Maybe it’s as dead as I am.

Outside its cold. Too cold. I shouldn’t be here.

I walk around, trying to find my shadow. Maybe it’s hiding until I find myself.

Blades of grass are bent, reminding me everything fades after a while. I look away.

I drop down and lay. The clouds are laughing. They move together with ease, creating a peace we can only admire.

Fast paced heartbeats haunt me throughout the days. When it’s raining, they slow. One of them can’t seem to go home.

Flushed faces and swollen lips. Hands pressed against hands. The sky is begging for me to open my eyes.

I do.

Nostalgia will swallow me whole.

The birds drift apart and cluster together. I’ve said it all before, humans are paper thin. Maybe we could learn from the birds. They know to leave in the cold.

Tree roots surround me, promising to keep me grounded. I envy the trees. I can hardly breathe.

The stars are out. I’m falling into them. I float into an abyss of blue and black. I grab a light, climbing up through them. They’re bright. They’re smiling. I race through them. They’re pouring down! I pull myself up as fast I can.

I stop. I float. I smile.

I come back down.

We’re all thieves. We steal moments that are too good to be true. We expect it to always be blissful. Not only are we thieves. We’re also stupid.

Green eyes are empty, not just shielded.

Sunflowers do die in July sometimes.

Strawberries under the window are too quiet and will corrupt you.

And we’re all thieves.

The moon is whispering my name. He’s telling me to go to sleep. If only it were that easy. I say okay anyway.

I walk back into the dead walls that hold me captive. I listen to the echoes and ticking clocks. I slowly drift.

https://rylanmason.wordpress.com/2015/12/07/abyssthieves/

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