ochre

i’m lying on the couch, fearful of dying sanity. engulfed in spicy leather.

aching memories have left bruises that stain blue to this day. they sting when my mind traces their outlines.

my hungry hands search, but there are no more cigarettes to be smoked. the thirsty throat burns, but there is nothing left to drink.

postponed dialogues leave scars, but no matter, there are no words left to be spoken. i once fashioned a river of odes to you. it has run dry.

i let the sun descend and breathe thoughts to be condemned.