trace of sane

In this dream I an dancing.
Dancing, twirling

not worrying, refreshingly washed.
My mind scrubbed clean of apathy.

That is the dream, though.
Remembering that freedom is the scar.
I can fly! I can see my body and I am not
naked but who put clothing on me?
It's me I feel outside of me!

I swear. although,
me, up here-I struggle to
remember one moment
from the next.

What was I saying?

I'm watching myself below myself.
floating with my back pushed against
the inner dome; a painted cathedral ceiling.

Hovering inside, above
painted ballroom in Russia.

The room is lit by chandeliers, a bright light,
thousands of small white wax sticks lit by humans;
but a real light.

Robbed of tears hard to find.
Nothing heals but numb
In my dreams nothing is relative and I feel alive.

You take me There.

Empty Sick Spins
Tired of trying to make myself care I fucked myself over.
The pain goes everywhere except to the emotions
these emotions they hint at in movies

Thudding bruised calf (contusions, bruising blood
purple hard swell muscles
Shoulders tighten towards one another and press on
my spine, bad nerves twitch and decay
My head is too heavy to hold straight and my vision is imperfect
gray-scale patterns I recognize and respond to.

I need a nap from this body and a trip to my mind.

Leftovers, just wanted to finish this poem I started it over a month ago

Can language lie in the eyes?
What does it mean? Where will it go?

A blend of brown, gold & experience...
You stare at me with intent but you don’t let me see it.

I turn listless, answerless & volatile.
If there is an easy answer I will not ask the question
If there was an easy answer you would know not to tell me,

It's my own bad nature
I am the one who started this puzzle, made it fractured
a million tiny pieces begging to be reassembled
a million tiny fears add more pieces,
they cut me deep in the chest.

I dream of you with no closed doors, no broken pieces
Under a blanket holding me...
Calm and easy I quiet my own voice

And the puzzle and the hell and the tears and the apathy,
they all melt under the heat of the blanket and the only pieces
that I need to worry about is your hand in mine.

Love will teach itself to me when I am ready.