i cannot believe
where the mind
will go
sometimes
to hell and back
resurfacing my heaven
in black
under the hot and
featherless
tar
writhing
kicking
screaming
ticking
my heart with her
leavening tale
to tell
describes the only
way out...
i will blow golden roses
up in my head
to fissure and crack
the thoughts
jet black
haunting me monday
to sunday
and back
once i found a way
to turn the black gray
then dilute all to colors
with tears
took me forty years
and one
and now the mind lies
sometimes
vacant and
quiet
the desperate work
has been
done
© Katya Mills
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