Chapter 1 - Weeping Clouds and Flower Gardens

Clouds wept that day.
I just thought they were sad, nothing to
do with us.

In the aftermath I lay content, innocent
to the truth of our predetermined paths.
They do not merge, merely cross, and I
am no more than a passerby.

Your bare feet casually pad about
polished corpses of trees, looking for
your mask.

Brilliant blue glass stares right through
me, speaking the truth as your mouth
tells sweet, little lies.
How I wish I could still stomach such
sugary poison.

Departure is quick, your vulnerability
once again hidden behind garments
scrawled with obscenities, and a painted
on smile like a china doll.

You do not even spare me your words;
just leave me to drown myself in
philosophy of indie rock prophets and
subtext of innocent tales in an effort to
lose your presence.

Your image through distorted glass I see
drenched in their tears.
Do you even care?

A garden of flowers does nothing but
attract more bees.
You like bees, though, don’t you?

Good luck finding any in this weather.

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