A whiff of my kitchen, a medicinal pill,
the side order of rain drools at a windowsill.
An utterance precedes a service; the rumble,
the window slides itself shut. A bumble
bee ricochets off a glass pane
moaning louder than our train
of thought waylaid with bacon sizzling up a storm.
There's an anxiousness trapped inside as warm
as indoors petrichor's marshmallow mood
steamed under nostrils fused above burned food.
A swirl follows itself in a perfect circle
on a smartphone screen. The attentive middle
of somewhere where I don't know where I am headed
while time and place are forgettably wedded,
O lips lit up, no doubt, by the whitening screen,
words digitize what would otherwise burn green.
Words are dying everyday
As short-lived as when imagined
A plead be a beseeching dismay
Yet as lived... where have I been?
Perhaps a little guidance for despair
A foothold for the disappearing grounds
To once more walk with a solemn flare
And nevermore with fear to turn simply around
Yet the more to will, I am not to see
Of words begging a difference for someone to be
A broken faith upon the unfounded me
Remains only a founded me to never be free
Where the world stands, I stand alone
Misguided, misjudged, misunderstood and misgiven
Where I stand, the world isn’t my home
And with solitude... I ask yet to be forgiven
Have I not have words if I may?
As short-lived as forgettably imagined
Where words are dying everyday
And as lived... I could only have been
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