Writing

Music lives here.

I can feel the rain unleashing behind my eyes

thunderstorms building beneath the keys

lightning strikes with each hit of the timpani.

Music lives here.

I don’t remember 

Was it real life or a dream?

Looked back; I was gone

Inseparable.

There was this girl; she and I had been friends since diapers. Teachers would ask where the other was when one wasn’t there. We were often mistaken for twins, our family sharing such a close bond. 

Leaves brush my neck.

Winter breathes and stirs my legs.

I taste the pebbles on my tongue,

blades of grass coat my lungs.

The gravel strains my curves.

I don’t have much to give

But please experience my tides

My entire being clings onto you tonight

As we dance under this midnight

Your gut curdles.

Your skull stays stiff.

Your flesh shakes,

your feet are wet.

The world can’t fit

inside your shell.

Your skin splits —