Showers of green and gold glitter fall off the trees, as the sun speckles the solid soil.
The sky is a reliable blue, brimming with buoyant, bright, clean clouds, that boil
across the horizon.  Happy dandelions dot and dazzle the verdantly inviting, vivacious lawn.
Lazy, little lungfuls of air waft warmly into our reading room.  I yawn,
and you toss me a listless smile.  The smell of fresh laundry floats
to my nose; I feel serenity inside my chest. I can see that you feel peaceful too. 

      

Everything in my mouth,
observing the world like a baby.
Green.
That's what it is.
The grass tips inch up
my belly.
It feels warm,
like mint tea.
One time,
I remember singing
and gathering petals.
It was good.
Mostly.
Clouds shadowed even
the spring. 

You scream like you have something left.
The only thing left is an echo.
There is no hope,
so don't pretend.
You look down the path,
but it ends in impossible.
I suppose you can keep
on screaming. 
It doesn't matter, either way.
Let your throat go raw.
I like it.  The screaming.
It sounds exactly like what
I hear on the inside.
So, please, even if it's
futile, continue shredding
your vocal chords.
It's so much easier to give up.
You coward.
I like it. The screaming.

You taste like a catacomb. 
Yes, you. 
Dull. 
Dull.
Dull.
Dull.
Dull. 
Dull. 
Monotonous.
Is today yesterday.
And is tomorrow
today?
Well, for you it is,
because every day is
the same.
When I look at you,
I feel like someone is
throwing flour in my
eyes.
There is so much potential,
but you leave the scraps
untouched.
Stop it.
Stop.
Mirrors are useless, anyways.
 

Shook for two seconds,
but that was too long for me.
Now my neck hurts bad.

Stuck in these too tight shoes, makes it hard to walk.  Can't even dance with them on, and all I want to do is dance.  Bound to this stake waiting to be burned.  Slow. Slow. Slowly now.  Waiting.  My teeth are falling out, before I get to bite that apple.  I don't care if it's poisonous.  I want to taste this would, even if it's rotting.  I want to skip down a street in London.  I want to skip, skip, trot, run, fall, and skip again.  But my big toe is cut off, and when I try to crawl I see that my arms are broken.  Stuck.  Stuck in these too tight shoes. 

The raspberry juice sloshed up my soul, and I soon found myself at the edge of a crimson lake of sour and sweet.  I allowed myself to jump into the delicate nectar, and I swam.  The sparkling, spiky liquid prickled its way down my throat, and I jumped out of the pool. 

Today, I went swimming at Target.  I let the colors of the blouses and the dresses splash my face and the darks of the levis wash over my legs. The rush of shopping clenses my soul.