Last Words

This morning in the blue rain my possessed iris climbed to the hill of the dove-white sky. A roaring sense of liberty pulsated through me, shaking out like a weak pulse, chasing the drops of salt which fell from the wet leaves. I was a sprite in the magic of the air, the rheum I wiped away like some savage wanderlust. The bulge of rocks were faceless, a voice calling in the wind. I felt like I had no name, in that moment I was no one but a dot on a much larger map.
I clean myself to make myself gleam white. I had almost forgotten I hadn't showered in days, hadn't felt hope in days, hadn't been anywhere exciting in days. The suffocating dread rushed over me, a raging sea washing over me. My sweat was a pearl, a tender bruise I pushed to the side. I clung to the vague notion I have more smiles, more time to make things right, more time to harvest the fruit of life, but I'm still a stranger to my blood. Clasping my shaking hand shut like a padlock, a shiny paper cut. I am a song on the edge of a cliff. We co-exist, sharing the same breath. Burning in a ten year old fire. I dance in the flames of an insatiable desire, a cesspool of kaleidoscopic pixels.
I was never important, not really. No one has ever taken the time to get to know me, to know how I drink the shadows of time in one massive gulp.  Choking on the words you spit so eloquently. You made me into a piece of art, a throne in a museum. I feel the weight of a black lake drown me in the starry night, no hope for morning. I look out the window and I don't feel so good in the haze of this room, drowsy and falling asleep in a chair that knows all my secrets. Once I would row, but now I'm wading through dark waters. I don't trust a limb oar, the sun guiding me towards heaven light when it bores into my prison like an insomniac surgeon performing optical illusions in the echo of a siren. The image is closer, it looks like you.