ARTMR03

When the skies bleed white wonders, I stand in the door frame, arched to lean in the direction against gravity. Considering the options I face on days like today, the sky glows pure white, there is no point of light, everything is illuminated, a certain uneasy clarity too bright to view, distant canvas paint a cancer of cautious chaos. Empty winds weave in and between the moments and sounds of you leaving, branches bend and break like pretzels in the hurricane of emotions, cries and prayers. wishes for the  cold bones in your skin to embrace and grab my jacket, staining the fabric with tears of regret. Empty shells lie on the carpet festering