Yellow Comfort

She finds me alone somewhere, arid and unaware.

There is only so much my brain can shut out --

bones bent askew across a broken chair.

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Some days, I'm lain out across summer air,

tongue tasting midnight the dusty drought.

She finds me alone somewhere, arid and unaware.

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Sometimes, she splits her mind outside the window. I hear

yellowed hyacinth might soon sprout

bones bent askew across a broken chair.

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She compares my mind to honeydew aftercare,

like I dipped myself in and drew warmth back out —

She finds me alone somewhere, arid and unaware.

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Other days, dust hangs all over like a jagged prayer,

a metaphor for my body wilting, my self-doubt, undevout

bones bent askew across a broken chair.

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These days, its all I can do to not sit and stare.

I'm all out of sticky sweet burnout.

She finds me alone somewhere, arid and unaware.

Bones bent askew across a broken chair.