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I once heard of an exchange of palettes,
a blending, a bleeding
Swapping and combining swatches of time and memory
A brush of wounds, a bleak tormented whirl of monotone values spread across the page
A burgundy river flows to clash the edges of my silver abyss. The pain heightens in a way that sees walls built as quickly as they came down
Destruction is the muscle memory of my past; gritted teeth, pulsating temples, fingers outstrecthed and always out of reach
It is the idea of you - that haunting, cold and heavy weight that looms and never reveals
Is it me that turns away, or you?
Each frightened by the scornful burden of the unknown
A concious avoidance of ann awkward sense of pain
A tomb of fake cashmere and polyblend keeping the darkness in, cutting corners of my life like the dry crusts of stale white bread
BE HERE NOW is what I’m told
BE HERE NOW is what I’ve learnt
GO. LEAVE. NOW is what I say

Under cold and baited breathe, non descript and yet dripping with every questionable thought of self doubt and self loathing