WHERE The Paths COLLIDE

An echo chamber

dissipates,

as the atmosphere around it

crumbles

under its own.

Weight,

of the shoulders, it goes

as scarfs that roleplay

as constrictor snakes

flowing

from a,

seemingly

empty

barrage

of space.

That fits

under the rugs

of a Universe,

sheltered

by the presence

of rainy veins.

But not as rainy as

a

sunny day.

In the city where

the weather

never decides

a personality

to stay

impersonated

as a brand-new

conscience.

As matters of trivial

assumptions

go,

they're encapsulated

as they're made,

into oblivions

fabricated

from their own

funny glare.

Of opportunities.

As a new chance arises

while everything else

b  re  a k   s .

The beak of

The Observatory

from where

my nose guides my eyesight

to its final

nest,

upon the stars;

we'll start

to lay

our grounds beneath

the dirt under our feet,

as we gallop across

an empty canvas

for a better world.

A lonesome place

to bare my face

Under the neck.

as Reality crushes

as our fingers

Rein.

Is a non-stop

Hurricane

Locomotive

where color

meets sounds

as they

taste...

The mellow melody

of asunder

a thunder

of ricochet;

microscopic transactions

from whence,

the middle, where it breaks,

as probabilities

enlighten us

under our

polished ways.

It's cultivated,

refrigerated

and

regurgitated,

every time It spins

as

THE WHOLE

melts

into tiny

p

a

r

t

i

c

l

e

s

dimensions

of colour

as everyone else

mends

their choices

from

a tainted place

to a

Sacred Stone

for   each 

  to

call

their  own

                            To  Rest . . .