my brain is contorting into all kinds of odd shapes,

distorting all of my fears into leering shadows,

fogging up the rear windows,

twisting innocent intentions in dark dimensions,

the windscreen is cracking under the harsh breaths of the tired sky,

everybody is leaving this town,
and soon, so will I,

we grow gardens in our veins to weed out
the confusions that reside in our minds,

we flush out the litter, one flower at a time,

don’t succumb to the pain,
don’t succumb to the pain,

we plant trees in our lungs
so that we can breathe clearly through the storms,

tear off leaves on the hardest days
as to shield us from stray shrapnel

I am yet to strike that balance
between lightness and casting heavy shadows

I am yet to poke that focal point that pins the centre of my mind to
the centre of the bulls eye on the dart board,

that settles all the minor confusions
and cancels out the long shot darts

protruding into the walls and the clasps of frames

penetrating the picture,
puncturing the image,

splintering into the perfect visage,

tearing open the finely crafted package to
unveil the raw material inside,

don’t shy away,
don’t shy away,

let’s scatter fallen petals through our bones,
infuse their essence into our souls