the sky is the color
of lavender cotton candy
with occasional
arcs of lightning
i imagine my brain
lights up much the same
one of those globes
where the electricity
follows your hands
though i can’t recall
the last time anyone
ran their fingers across
my freshly shaven scalp
but i reckon it applies
even in my hermitude

it’s the little things
you notice ache the most
when the only plethora
you seem to be inundated with
is the desperate need for more
or anything really
but beggars dream of choice
despite the aspersions
cast persistently upon them

i absently run my hand
across my head causing fresh
flashes in the neon purple
unable to tell if it was
outside or in my hollow skull