Sunlight slipping in
through the pressure in my head.
cuts sharply along the seam
of leather smells,
I breath
In grass dust and honeysuckle,
sweet and swollen with kisses of words
and roots tinged red with the blood of trees.
It’s too cold for that seagull.
Lost in the seas of breeze
and air
that never makes it to the bottom of my lungs.
Never completely full anymore.
Never completely sure I’m sure.
I’m too sane for madness,
Too mad for reality,
Just cruel enough to be real.