of sad poems & ghost stories

for dreams & things that never stayed, i found myself a flustered fish. 

of all my failed arts, i tongue the sadness of this poem & of myself. but

the derangement from corroded nights & the sandpapered feet of a swayed angel bearing his own name stayed, like

life, wrapped in a grain of earth's dust, so everyone cries. love stood,

like the distance betwixt two lost lovers & a chained city full of folded arms awaiting trial.

perhaps, no one knows if i was alive —the rise-run, another death race to finish. i am a body left behind by another, gone at twilight & left betwixt a fladry & a field of blossoming flowers. 

saline silhouette of lost shapes travelled from the lips of god, only 

somnolent lids could stare. shadows, walked the thin lines in the pages of a ghost story—but ghosts do not know my backyard, only the room where i found traces of a faint feet at 3am. i'll never get to see him again; another sad poem of closure, an utter rummaging of self bitterness into a silver night littered with portraits of godevils.

.i found myself a flustered fish.

then, emerged a vista of fallen angels, like the ghosts that do not know nighness, everything within me felt light, lighter than the feather of a dragon fly. 

you leaned on my chest, stuttering songs of a violent tendril, breathing slowly, i could trace the air like the memories you left on the collar bone of everyone. 

perhaps, a near death & the innocence between this sadness 

dissolved into another home of stifling smoke. now, when

i am a broken tibia, your winged wheelchair flew me past the faces of these sad poems & the pages of many ghost stories. 

.i found myself a flustered fish.