I'm a balloon,
taped to an oxygen tank...

Anything -
I don't want to feel...

5 years old,
and two inches small...

I don't know how to adjust
to the barcode erased from my body...

Saddened eyes,
cigarette...

The movements around me are thickly pouring syrup,
molasses...

You can hum your praises,
cry your sins...

I smell it in your expression,
I taste it in your body language...

Perhaps someday
we'll remember...

I've realized that I
probably won't see justice...

Poetry is art for the insane.
A minor keyed melody...

I've inhaled the scent of lilac and turquoise...
and exhaled the joy with the texture of paint...