Chipped nails, seeds of anxiety, warm glow of pre-sleep. Small bubbles of microcosms, Floating to the surface, Full of unplumbed depths Full of what could have beens, what should have
Faded rose skies Blushing with the anxious jaundiced pallor of a skinned peach, Exposed, waiting, cease to breathe. Waiting for the world to stop, Waiting for the purge of poison-laden