Left lying in a lonely bed — embracing abstract spontaneity

Unheard in the fog of smoke,

Burned from the chill of ice,

Left lying in a lonely bed,

Forced to cuddle with sunken sheets.

Winds howl through the rivers of my veins,

Blood churning to the humming of my inner child,

She sings with a naïve pitch,

Gracefully ignorant to the horrors of cultural pseudo-utopia,

Where love is a number,

And laughter comes only after a tear.

Tears fall from my face,

Dreaming of the ideal reality canvassed over my world,

Mounted on my back for others to receive,

Diving faced-down, hands at my heart,

Humbly giving up the structured work of art for an abstract blend of spontaneity,

Releasing the selfish frames of arrogance,

Left lying in a lonely bed,

Soaking up the space to rest,

Listening to the sound of my own breath.