It's raining petals
a spectacle overhead.
Red droplets
keep dotting my skin.
An unannounced alarm is
ringing and disarming
my ears don't hear a thing.

The sight of me
or I guess what I think a painting would see:
Triangular hills overtop asymmetric minty fields
a broken sun beaten to orange peel wishing its yellow healed
clouds covered in milky gray
creamy edges layered in paint,
a crumbled house spilt to gravel
above the fray awash in its past turmoil.
All the background to the main stage:
There’s an incision
that divides the fields
messy brushes of splintered greens, a crater underneath
empty but gasping in shades of burgundy.
The entire landscape
is splattered and dripped
in scarlet pink.
There’s a figure
narrow like a pencil
double lined and bolded in ink
one line a bit longer
a hash mark covers its black heart.
At first it’s hard to notice because the figure’s quiet in the corner
but the more you look the less eyes wander
the figure stares
lying in disrepair,
a witness to colors.

I see colors
everywhere.

Removed of a boot
an appendage, a foot
I'm alive, I say
pale-faced afraid
seeping solace
in the seconds
of my eulogy.

Before the rush ins
adrenaline crushing
soul sucking destruction,
I was a father.
The mother
my lover, infinity and cover,
suffering sleepless nights to day
wondering when inevitable fate
would witness my soul escape.
Her portrait -
olive eyes I worship
watching lives and warships
blast in place -
hovers my chest
1” x 1”
swaying on a chain
begging the beats to remain.
Slowly now,
it lays
on my sternum she waits.

It's raining metal
the world's Geppeto
my leg another place
the petals feather my face.
I close my eyes
picture a painting
and drift away.