viscous water,

lapping at the edges of my scar;

like legs of wine,

running on my skin.


hot steam is blown by an unseen wind;

it joins with the smoke of six candles,

who skim their light across the mineral pond.


a piano playing,

the smell of trees,

and i am sinking,




beneath the blanket,

i am protected from the fire outside,

but the tornado screams

as my cover is sucked away.


now cold, i am forced back into reality.

faced with indifference,

i am so far removed from the depths of my bath.


maybe, you just had to be there…



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s