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Loves
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The Blackbird
There’s a blackbird outside my window,
but he doesn't sing.
His golden eyes glow like horizons,
pupils like sinking ships.
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Hours
Hours turn into days,
days turn into weeks.
I can't get out of my head,
I get no sleep.
Scared to look under my bed,
because that's where my demons lay their heads.
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Escape
With the curtains thrown wide
we see the world gray
and we know it's the fault of our own
Spent far too long
bearing crown, sword, and shield
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Vincent
Orange, yellow, and red
Swirled like a painter mixing his colors
The brush strokes, light, heavy, loud
A pallet of only the brightest colors
Distracting him from the grip of life -
The Old Dream
You sit
in the corner of my room,
stretched thin across canvas,
and frozen
in your forgotten poise.