spectrum // poetry

iolite

Watch the music fill the air,
decorate each moment
with each drag of the note
that asks us how we're doing.

It lifts us from the world we call reality,
out of our fragile frames fragmenting
we can forget everything.
My limbs merge on the bedroom wall,
my head's torn between the ceiling floor,
my legs find themselves in the air
but here, I am in control.

This isn't real life,
but this is the real me.