Botulism

The smell of summer fading; rain, tears, and smoke from the thousand broken dreams of burning children, and those who chose to flee. The embers burning heels, The leaves are singed and falling. The sun plummets so fast, it pulls the swollen clouds and mist dissipating, but it is not touchable. A canvas made of bruised twilight reflects the sickness they feel inside, guttering like fragile minds and manipulation reminding me you're such a slow artist. swallowing time like a pill full of sand, laboring into the dark to the sounds of ragged breathing. Makes my life so still, dull, dark compared to the sound of your drowning; violent and full of passion dancing like the flame you write with scorching secrets. The tip of your lips tear me apart like the needle of your pen's salt in the gash in my head. so tired the medicine won't work, had i forgotten the pill filled with release? Weighing down the grains liquid mucous bubbling pudding and laughter and teeth ripping tearing thoughts of you fill my head wound as i am falling apart there is no picking up of peices, and apathy is all we can be our tolerance drained from disease.