Bloom

Standard

From beyond the nights
And into my sleeping head
Working for that sign of light
To finally pull me from my bed
A dance of moving parts and pieces
Gears twisting in their place
Fingers running over the creases
Left behind in the sheets
For behind my eyes – I no longer see your face
There’s nothing left in sleep for me
Not a sound or song or words of validation
Just the cries of the demands for my condemnation
There’s no quiet left in my room for me
Just echos of sounds and trails of hazy smoke
But before I wake to face the fumes
Of something lesser than what I want
I’m just waiting for these thorns in my head
To twist and bloom

A ballet of roses
And sweeter scents than what was left behind
A trickle of color
A downpour of things we’ll never find
I can hear everything so loudly
A symphony of re-repeating
Another collection of words
Just ski-skipping
I can feel it in my chest
The petals wilting ever so soon
So that the weeds and thickets
Can continue to bloom

There’s nothing  but twisting in the dark
There’s nothing but absence in the cold
A lack of color to your lungs
And an empire of dead bones to behold
The world turns beneath
As I sleep in the silence of it all
And the quiet, rushing thoughts bare their yellow teeth
There’s so much of it all
In the aching of the gloom
I can only wait for morning
And hope there is more waiting to break through and bloom

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