warming
The inner world, for me
Is a vast collection of imagery
That blends each moment
Into feeling
Expressed so fleeting
That even regret forgets itself
That even success rots in reflection
on introspection,
this world is stained glass
In one hand is paper
The other a brick
My breath catches.
Spin, release
Feel my insides pour out of in rainbow splinters.
Around me,
glass becomes sand
A mural of spinning colors.
A torrent of unfinished,
Unbound energy.
Infinity