dust untouched

do you have anything to say?

"do you have anything to say?"

right then and there 
the lady lachrymose
of my mind
rushes to the acidulated waters
with toxic thoughts that remain
afloat on
boats abandoned.

i could tell you
how much my condemnation
i have cast
upon myself
has led me to pull my own roots,
burn my leaves,
cut down my stems.
i swallow petals and bullets (little morsels, maybe)
now residing in my empty stomach,
yearning for more until i have had too much
and it reaches to my throat,
obstructing it, until every tiny breath stops.

i could tell you
how much i fantasize 
of what could be the feeling
of your last second,
breathing,

thinking,
smiling,
dying.
and that at the end of the day
we all become one with earth,
we are all with the dirt;
we are no different from each other.

we become a foundation
we are death but we are life.

(i have a tendency to overdo it)

i could tell you
that i am uncertain
of how much i have thought
of my blood not spilling
all over the floor,
but of it painted
all over the afternoon skies,
and sometimes, at the moon itself.

i could tell you about a lot of things.
i could tell you too much or too little.
i could tell you,
but i don't.

"do you have anything to say?"
"i don't know."