you gave me color
back when gray had no meaning...

we let the color red bleed through the quilt
where her lips pressed closely among summer...

these sultry lips taste forsaken leaves
as they fall south within a morning gust...

calling bipolar by its name
is giving it power...

not particularly fond
of the best way to describe this...

the sun climbs
up a stairwell...

if I was just another sunrise
where the water reflects...

if this skin spoke
you would hear its screams...

the only way
to understand...

this system ran,
but it was lost...

finding Sarah lost in translation
of each diary page...

if Sarah was this nightly ruse
waiting for someone new...