Here comes summer

Everyone is political and love is not politics.  The picture I painted of you in my mind is more perfection than the poem that I can touch.  My heart invents fairytales to my head's dismay.  I fall asleep with the blinds closed and hope to wake up with sunlight peaking in.  It only takes a spark.

I don't want to be inside all of this evaporated guilt and a point and click universe.  I don't want to be live where forgetfulness is happiness.  Some days you wake up hungover but at least you know there was something to regret.  Here under my unmade sheets I lie awake, but only in consciousness.  My eyes are open but my feet don't function.  My heart beats but ever so slowly.  Every doodle I draw is someone else's.  Nothing really draws me but clouds whisk by me like the years in life.  I gaze at them with curiosity, take my eyes away for what feels like a minute, and they're gone.

I'm the shadowy figure of a balloon's reflection.  A colorful shadow, but a shadow nonetheless.  Whispered darkness carries me away and any hope of light is overcome by the distracting noise of dying flowers.