Thoughts fill the flesh under my skin
Jangling in the absence of light.
They slip from my tongue,
Ill fitting and strange they,
Taste bitter in my mouth.
I can not stop my hands from
Grabbing and snatching at
Tiny pieces of paper strewn
Across my messy bedroom.
Four walls press in on me.
I have to close,
My eyes to breath.
The tingley hum of electronic white noise,
Bores Into the soft gray matter in my skull.
Clean air and the sound of birds,
Tiny nut colored creatures that flit out from my peripheral vision into the path,
Press into the muscles tense under my skin,
Sink in and dislodge,
The weighted stone tucked under my diaphragm.
Three breaths is what it takes to cleanse my lungs of sickly city air.
Sunlight soaks into my closed eyes
As I turn my face up,
Photosynthesising the darkness out
Of the gaps between
My thinking mind and outward self.
Winding through pillars of light and glory
I take the longest path back to the car.