I remember tomatoes
Vines woven through sun dried soil and rusty fences
I wrapped you in wire armor
Picked flies off glossy red skin with dirty fingernails
Seasoned you with sweat
I watched while you lived and died
Picked from your vine and sliced paper thin
In the summer I was your king, your godless god

I remember white carpet, once soft against my feet
But now hard against my head
It strips the diamonds from my crown
Bruises me to the bone
But I cannot move
If I move, if I breathe
My skin will rip to spill nothing but blood and ink
My breathe will turn to smoke
And scars will once again stain the places where I clawed at my skin

I remember when a song became my religion
I haunted the halls of my house with your melody
Surrounded myself with the sounds I collected at dawn
I prayed for the music to change me, erase me
Dreading the moment it would give way to silence

I remember waiting
And when I couldn’t wait any more I ran
I ran until I stopped breathing
Painted black around my eyes and lips so my tears would leave tracks
I starved for love
And slept when I couldn’t smile
Dreaming of ebony oceans that swallowed me under even darker skies

Once I walked on clouds
Danced with the celestial bodies I met in storybooks
I thought I could drink in the bittersweet symphony
And come out in one piece

But you threw stones and built walls
Took my voice and crushed my lungs
Now I can only walk

With every stride I grasp for shadows
And dance another step with the devil