synestheic girl
paints you a picture of songs,
frightening anger, what it wold look like
if you could see it
with its wall of sound.
there's knives of orange, tipped in
a white glowing light
growing louder in front
of a horizontal burgandy sprial
being bushed in flea grey waves.
these angry assault on my eyes,
make me scream with the vibrancy
while my ears enjoy the complexity.
Sharph blue EKG graphs
cut straight through the dull grey of
the two AM orangle light of the road.

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the view from my heart

I've never felt more alone.
In this crowd of people, so in love with one another, I stick out like a gangrenous thumb. So painfully obvious, looked upon with pity and asked "what has done this to you?"
I can't believe how empty this feels. I'm in Heaven-on-Earth, honestly. Calmed, brought settled by the glorious vastness of the horizon line.
But this bitter, bioulous thing tears the back of my throat, sticks to me and keeps me from letting my tears get mingled with the reciding tideline. I want so badly, to the depths of the last cell in my small toe, to have you venturing beside me and to know you're there...
somehow.

I wonder...

Do you think the concrete love survived