cold clay mug emptied from esophagus scorching chamomile and honey dollop potion of delectability. tingling into lethargy. the fan is turning turning turning turning whirling with a wobbling hazed metallic halo, lulling me in ebbing waves of slumber. opaque glass bulb coffins clutching faint reflections of moon blue and goldish light. gazing heavy. eyelids of lead sinking sinking sinking sinking waning locking shut kissing charcoal nothingness. bed, body unmoving. mind has gone. projecting protrusions of disheveled imagery and metaphors of cloaked desires.

red-bellied robin
beak rapt round
rotting branch bundles

beating breast belting
reverberating breaths
reminiscing rimbaud

i'll boil water for tea and just as easily all will be forgotten.

(flash fiction exercise. couldn't find my journal--you may disregard this post.)

tangerine flames crackled as the thin silvery haired lady traced a pattern of tiny triangles printed in her polyester nightgown. the mahogany rocking chair creaked deep and monotonously in correspondence to the same reoccurring thoughts as her glossy eyes gazed, transfixed to the lazy clouds crawling up the chimney and lacing feeble lungs. in a sudden flit, her lashes locked and a festering premonition embroidered her psyche. she felt her body wither as flesh meshed with the sodden ground and regenerating roots ramped within oblivious marrow. paralyzed in a trance of catalepsy, dewy tear buds blossomed as a pitiless purple orchid flourished unremittingly. her vision ceased. the chair no longer creaking. she wallowed in apprehension before allowing consciousness to fully reemerge. her quivering eyes turned again to the hissing blaze--which now had waned into mere hues of hushed plum and timid crimson.

new song up.

it's tuesday, not sunday, as my brain suspected. the roses are blooming bashfully in the window next to an unopened tarot deck and stamped letters which have not been, and will not be, sent. there is a child climbing the staircase. they always try to peer through the glass veiled in sun-bleached tie-dye tapestry of muted rainbow translucency. whispering outside my wooden door, planning their escape if the locks and golden knobs start twisting, suddenly.

what a devastating daydream we've been living in.

constantly you, weaving through this loom of me.

just saw chuck berry. one of the best nights of my life. and one part that was absolutely horrifying..but i'll have so much beguiling matter to employ for my creative writing class. including chuck's red sequin shirt and pentecostal women dirty dancing on stage.
absurd!!! i'll likely write an entry soon. on a day when i don't have to wake at 5am to ready for a long day of work. but seriously--i could write an entire memoir in regards to this night.

xo.

i keep reading that sentence over and over. everything is so blatantly obscure. i keep telling myself that i'm misconstruing it all. but you said it. no fancy footwork, just those simple words i keep fumbling over. wondering over. dreaming over. and i keep getting these wild flowering festers of uncontrollable visions. ...but i know i could just be misconstruing it all. my veil is falling. it's gotten much too heavy for my bones to sustain. rendering me vexed, powerlessly, in a swallowing state of disguised desires.