the birds sing
the ceiling shifts
as the neighbor
sleepily stomps
his way to greet
the tendrils of
sunlight slinking
over the horizon

my tongue coated
in bitterness as
the coffee steams
a condemnation in
shimmering condensation
condescendingly leaving
a concentricity of
rings on the table
to remind me just
how far i have settled
into the dark embrace
of self imposed silence
where each stain is
a lifetime spent
fluctuating wildly
yet contained by this
hollow prison of bone

the best parts of me
long since scattered like
ashes by the lovers
who set the pyre aflame
without checking to see
if i was dead
or merely sleeping
so anxious to escape
this ocean of oscillating
emotional discrepancies

the birds sing
a heavy distortion
in dissociative bliss
i weave the golden
umbra into an umbrella
to shield my soul
from impending storms
dancing distantly
yet always just ahead