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We went with hearts too full to know.
Reveled in destruction and rage,
The home is still faintly burning.
Inside, a couple of kids.
The crying dust. The womb of lust.
Pinks and oranges fall on the rooftops.
The dark and the dampness,
Covering the walls in paper thoughts,
Of gatherings long since passed.
We broke into a billion pieces and finally fell.
The cocoon is hard and protective.
It’s trimmed in the hair I have ripped,
Collected from each creature.
The wing veins in the heart burst through.
Looking at you, I gasp,
But my lungs fill with hopelessness.
Dry, sucked-back pupils.
Immerse myself in the cracking shell.
Thinking of times when the kitchen chair,
Would be my bed (The cocoon).
I hear your voice. Your eyes dart.
Toxic secretions coming out of you,
Like a colorful hostage behind glass.
I strip and enter the last stage.
Countermeasures to race these toxins.
I’m not dreaming.

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