The Loner I am

          I'm a loner. I enjoy being with myself sometimes. Even the breaking crisps of light make me feel safe. The cold whites of a sparkly night are all I need to relate to the universe around me. I enjoy being lost sometimes. I enjoy waking up to a new life. To a new self.

          You see, I do believe I was born in a time to which I do not belong. I insist to exist beyond the dimensions of life and death. 

         Above the fourth star to the left, they all gathered in black. It was a morose charcoal day. The oily olive green smell slid off mounting a whiff of nothing. Not a breeze. The spoons and forks were all wrapped in honey yellow plastic bag and scotched with a black tape. I wanted to look down to see but there was no downer than the down I was leaning from. They dressed painfully grey. A crying grey. Words were trapped inside their pink throats and jello minds. Their fingers were tall. Very tall and twiggy they were. It was a house of leaves. A nest of perpetual grief. Their knees were rusty and squeaky. The rust snuck halfway down all the way to just above where the cloth wraps strung the crimson red. They existed on a verge. A tinky winky pinky verge. The event was reeling with the woman's feet. Her white tall meat. Her perky toes and dark blue nail paint. Her very short dress and shorter hair. Her tears were starting to bulge on the surface of her sclera. Her sadness was somehow a gas puffing from her exquisitely drawn pink lips, like a fungus. Her sadness was of such exorbitance that 173 angels were roaming the moons above, sliding along the rings. Reluctantly waiting for her sweet sadness. A forbidden dessert encased and sent away to the world unknown, to that of life and death. It wasn't getting any darker. It simply addressed the fact that my sensations were alienated from my dimensions. My smell could here the void. My sight could feel the crispy dark dark. My love was not mine but the universe's again. I ceased to exist a person. I ceased to try understand. I perished beautifully into the universe I once was. I loved and lived the dust I once was. 

          Sometimes, I yearn my slightly aged blue jacket and lie down. I'm elusive from the honks and gear shifts down the street. I'm beyond the flickering yellow street lights. I'm not the neighbors. I'm not the street. I'm not the casting quivering shadows and tell tales the suburbs speak. I'm not the love I thought it was and what was sought to always be. I'm not the laughing clusters or the glass that faces the other to declare another cheers. I'm not the people. I'm not myself. What am I? I am what I create. I am the silence and the words I believe. I'm the few I manage speak. I am the past, the present, the future and something before the three. I am the forever now. I am the limited infinity. I exist between 0 and 1; in such small eternity.