warming
The inner world, for me Is a vast collection of imagery That blends each moment Into feeling Expressed so fleeting That even regret forgets itself That even success rots in reflection
on introspection, this world is stained glass
In one hand is paper The other a brick
My breath catches.
Spin, release
Feel my insides pour out of in rainbow splinters.
Around me, glass becomes sand A mural of spinning colors.
A torrent of unfinished, Unbound energy.
Infinity