Taste for Oblivion

Draw your own conclusions from my sorrow.

I’ve been sleeping with your ghost

and every night you slip

(though it’s been a slow and steady drip)

through my fingers like smoke

as we walk along the coast.

Salty water makes me choke

and laps at my wounds,

rocking me gently as I writhe and try

to find my footing against the undertow.

No one knows blue until they see

 

                                blue

 

the kind of blue that blots out the world

blue that swallows you whole

where you lose control

so you’re swimming in storm clouds

loud blue

the kind of blue that roars against the rocks

that thunders in your ears

and tints your tears

the kind of blue that talks

like the slow and steady tick of melting clocks

canopic, cyan, cerulean, cobalt, cyanotic…

such a subtle warmth, almost hypnotic

the kind of blue that burns

as the room turns and you

at the very center

become the sun

in the vast empty cold

 

breathing in blue, lungs filled with choppy water

only fueling your thirst

so that you could drink the Atlantic

and still cry for more

with your dusty red eyes

and swollen tongue

pathetic

 

blue that becomes black

truly it takes a taste for

oblivion