Sickened by the sweet scent of Lavendar breeding in the air this spring has neared. My eyes dance about the nothings in the black. Up all night without a rhyme or reason for the pitchfork that jams itself in the back of my head. Tiptoe out of this church that keep me prisoner and out onto the unconscious lawn and underneath 3 AM. The dampness moists my bare feet.
Sitting curbside I falsey inhale blue smoke dancing beneath my nose. Who is he that stands so near but is too blind to visual me? Suits me fine - for now. This could lead to somewhere I need to be- or shouldn't be. I wont take the gamble of my acute curiousness. He is not for me and I am not for him. How dare he turn and ask of my locket dancing from my neck; offer a drag of his cigarette that he raises calmly to and from his lips; allow the moonlight to rape his skin, kissing its shadows and stars shine in his eyes? Go back to your cell of your nightmares, its alot easier to face. Or digest. I can't decide. For me or him.
The lavendar snakes my throat. He sees me. He's alive. So am I, even if its for a moment. These four walls wont make me fine.
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