Poison infested fields withering into nothing and less. Earth is left weak and vulnerable for the watchers to reap. Sun feasting over the leftovers left by disease and nature. Timid winds blow away the fallen and grasp at what holds on to the earth. Black sky, pierced by the sun, crying over the barren earth. The only cure for death is life.

Pressure forming than exploding through cracks of indecisiveness and foreign thoughts. Surrounding your toes with self-doubt and rainy dreams. Abdomen cringes the cold courage and strength and flees for black exit. The pressure grabs the throat and squeezes the last of hope and adventure into equal adversity and burden. Into the throat and into the lungs stress flourishes and kidnaps the gasping of air. Drowning in an ocean of plagued decisions and missed opportunities dimming the outlook of tomorrow.

Hidden in walls and masks. Safety in exile and closure. Fortune flees across waters and walls for masks and exile. Steel walls storing away silver pendants and gold bars from the eyes and sun. Men in stained uniforms and outdated tactics guard treasures from restless souls. Freeing these demons from their captivity will be glorious.

Views of salt waves and crimson rays reflecting orange into a new day. Someday.

Italian leather speeding a hundred down a highway with winds blowing in my mane while singing to Katy Perry. Someday.

Waiting with all your loved ones around the phone waiting for it to ring so all your dreams can come true and to play with the ‘big boys’. Someday.

The phone is still and the house is quiet and waiting for him to return one day. Someday.

Organ playing and switches to Air on the G-string as she walks in all white slowly stealing the eyes of the gathered patrons. Someday.

Swiveling heads spinning through cryptic nights to docile trumpets. Fleeting drums signals the new round for new partners. Heads continuously swivel without partners and without the trumpets. She laughs and grips tight his triceps at a truly unappealing jape of her new co-partner. The round is stale and the exit is swift into the night for tea and crumpets. She says tonight we will dance again and I will be your partner. Inquiring the bottom of his wallet for the coin for the dance and for his partner the beautiful strumpet.

Sweet honey on delightful peaches breathing in salt wind from fresh water. That’s the dream right?

Fame grapes dealing twenty-one every hand bringing in more silver than harvest of the year. That’s the dream right?

Cocoa berries inspire seduction to completion and hearts sufficiency. That’s the dream right?

Oak desk home of the silver tag displaying the alias and title yet truly displaying a decade of life. That’s the dream right?

Borders against language. Guards against the tounge like a mouth guard. Red lines too freed lines. Hopping the fence for dreams and futures only past the edges bared by blue and white. Write past the line. Fearing the red grants strength to an old idea and an inantimate object. Write past the red and set yourself free.

Obvious and hidden. Suddle traces of honesty left like breadcrumbs. Feel like a fool. Chasing blindly into unsure circumstances for the idea of peace or happiness. 

Mask and caves know the truth behind the shadows. The glory in lies and expendables. Honey and sugar keep the normal going through the black nights and cold people. Outcomes dim and plans shatter and the porcelain is the new best friend tonight.