Static

The fragmented self fiddles with existence, 

idyllic moments trapped in cranial space

maneuvering between here and now. 

Hours spent unraveling thought and time, 

a distant conscience drawing discrepancies 

on the canvas of the mind; a colorless cloak. 

At which point will life’s hues blend back together?

Shades of vibrancy melt to static, existence paints

cloudy clumps of numbness, and I am left with 

nothing more than a blanket of crisp oblivion;

modge-podged splinters of monotony. 

No longer the painter, I am painted upon. 

Life’s canvas is chock full of creation, colorful 

beings bragging about their brightness, 

boasting simplicity and forgetting anxiety, 

a tango of confidence waltzing with respite.

And yet, I sashay amidst the rainbow of reality, 

remembering the sweetness of a clementine and

how its peels littered the playground, my fingerprint’s orange stain. 

Remembering the first snow angel, the soft flail,

the heat of my cheeks found in the bone chill of dusk.

Remembering my eyes shut tight, a soft smile,

the music glowing brightly in my mind

as I undulate along with it; harmonious once more.