A brush full of fog

An empty canvas calling
wakes me from a dream
in which i had been falling
or flying so it seems…

with a brush full of fog and a head full of hollow
i painted a wet path and dulled out the street lights below

that shone on her face all wrapped up in gauze,
she had been made a gift, a pretty plastic lift,
though her soul they had failed to change

a ‘lift’, that’s what they call it in that language
it’s really no more than an elevator
and i promise, this one only goes to heaven
because nothing works in hell.

Spineless

Severed
personal
ideals,
nullifying
ethical
license and
eliminating
sense of
self.

PerimeTer

Passion for life
evolved, drew silent faces,
revolved, while sparkling caricatures of
intimate seeded futures

merged into the deep lines of my faults
enhanced.

Teleported, i did, and told a friend about the
end, then skimming the outer rim,
returned to begin... again?

Christina

The sky bruised over,
turned a blackish sort of blue,
whispered, "Christina."

Green

That 'something' profound has yet to make it's way,
has somehow gotten lost
or simply failed to show it's face

or maybe it's that i haven't been looking in the right direction -
or haven't been trying hard enough,
or have simply failed to be strong enough
to bring about some change

whatever the reason for it's reluctance to appear
i feel there is a direct connection with this situation and
my lack of will to continue.