Fresh Petals

Kinda depressing, sorry. This is my specialty.

Insistent beetles crawl on my skin.

I know what I should say, but

I should not

The prose sticks between my lips.

It feeds on my weighted breath.

My voice is never enough

Never enough

The words I know are twisted in

your mind.

Fine, I won’t speak.

Don’t worry.

I’ll sit in my pajamas and think.

Think.

What am I thinking about?

They have dull roses on them.

Author's Note

May or may not be feeling this way right now.

Reviews

[Phil Capitano]

Nicely done CBH, a study in contemplation.