barefoot on mahogany wood
entryways in her imagination
frequently fire thoughts
on emotional sensation-
resurrections of deceased ideas
entrench her mind and soul
yesterday will last forever
or swallow her body whole
under pillowcases,
knowledge turns the light off
night falls into sunset skies
over problems that she’ll write off
when she lays upon the ground
in existential dread
the only thing she wishes is that
yesterday was dead
or that anyone could
understand the feeling of
having nothing to give
and falling into a
void of feeling guilty to live—
ending the past but
achieving the future
looks frightening and fake
reaching a point where
everyone has something to give
and something to take
does not ever happen? or will it?
yes or no?
losing meaning
of meaning
switching gears
to daydreaming.
yelling
out from
under, trying to get away
reaching for air
searching and inhaling and
exhaling and
lastly,
fading away.
