Bound & Sullen

She lay in the grass,
the sun glaring high.
Violet flowers dance across a silk sun dress,
reaching for something that once stood before her.
52 weeks.
Feeling infinite,
a common remark within her buzzing mind.
Note to Self: Bliss.

He lay in the grass,
moving a hand across
the empty white.
A void imprinted in the planet,
a sunken earth.
24 hours.
He casts a glance
in her direction
only to find
a head unwilling to turn.
A sun dress lay next to him,
lacking
the apparition it
once held.
A trace of
reminiscence left behind.
Note to Self: Despair.

Such intimate steps taken
to destroy oneself.
Dive,
back into the snow.
It’s the memory
that keeps you coming back.
He
takes his place.
A damp
cold
concrete floor.
The fever’s getting
worse.
Maybe
it’s the alcohol.
The sun dress lay
in a box.
Doused
in whiskey.
He swallows forcefully
against the rising anesthetic.
Artificial euphoria.
Note to Self: Apathy.