descend and dissolve
because I don't / know how to know / it any other way
the thought of it being anything other than a chair scares you.
you have the wicked ability / to paint flowers as death's invitation.
like placing paper / to the flame.
Put on your own oxygen mask first. Always.
Sometimes it all feels like swallowing glass; you reach for a solution but it's like trying to catch smoke in your hand.
The key chain from the aquarium sat at the other end of the kitchen table. I watched the blue-dyed water and the turtle inside shake, each time he sunk into his chair and wriggled, refusing to read an assignment.
You'd think it would be some kind of magic, being so tuned in to your own conscience that you can pinpoint where a feeling comes from and why; to know where your own power lies, to be able to dig through the misty ether and say hey, don't be so hard on yourself, you know what your trigger is.
I snapped quick photos of your concentration, placed the phone down and watched your fingers move, how you dipped your brushes a little too aggressively, swirled through the orange like a hurricane then slapped on too many layers.