Short Writing Pieces

someone turn up the mic

Pale cheek pressed up against the marble
The blue and purple thoughts come and go
Never stopping by to say hello
Eyes fixated on the mold of yesterday
Though the thought of tomorrow has long begun to decay
Severed wires all around
Circling the corporeal like a butterfly net
Dulling down every sound
Jenga blocks for vertebrae
Doll eyes for the dead
Everything that makes you a person
Is now flowing out the hole in your head
It's cold in heaven
It almost feels like falling asleep on their bathroom floor