I.
We have been here before,
so often
I cannot think of a time
when a reasonable reflection of myself
wasn't sorrowful.
The ebb in which some decline
is like one eye fallen to a big sleep.

II.
Busy whispers battle
with the reason inside my head;
in some ways I am the cellophane host.
To say I love you echoes faintly
the times my body beat, vibrantly
I mourn for the theft of manifest;
these decisions threw me to the vapid waste.

III.
The world is filtered only through
the ajar window:
torture tangles in the twitter
of birds.
Falling rain doused in ash,
cracks through the trees.
The outside rolls on, like
the endless unfurl of Andrex;
how many tears can one spill
until the ocean is again full?

IV.
I dreamt the river of glass
held my body tonight.
And trains collided in my head,
but still I felt only the cold graze of
a dewy 4AM.

V.
I saw a light
cutting through
the closed curtains.
The pale powder blue
of soulfully sad eyes, they twinkled
like a lambent child sleeping
far on the wayside
from dreamlike desolation.

The ebb in which some decline
completes with both eyes fallen to a big sleep.
I saw the light, just in time
before I mumbled goodbye -