i can't talk about the sun
the way each ray brushes my skin
sets my cells on fire
reverberating electricity
all the way down to the
hard to reach corners
hidden inside
i can't talk about the good
the warmth
the way my thoughts skip a step
when your lids blink
once, twice, three times
and still your lashes
like sun stained feathers
hold my gaze
i'm trying to protect
the warm smell of rain
as it first meets with the
tired, trodden road
outside my jungle oasis
the way your hand
instinctively moves towards mine
knuckles knocking barely
enough to show you're there
you know
i can't talk about this
because i know
once the letters
in cursive
spill from my lips
my hands
they'll disintegrate like sand in the wind
and left in their place will be a
familiar
sinking
pressure
whispering 'i told you so'
suffocating from the inside out
i'm afraid
of the hollow, empty space
bleeding through my skin
once the words are lost
and i'm forgotten
so, i lock the letters up
let them fill me up
and pretend to be
a pillar
when i'm really just
a puzzle
trying to make sense of
these pieces