This pigment creeps; It turns my pallid skin into shades of smudged charcoal, Breathing Black. Ink. I'm sinking in this puddle, my body a dying star collapsing in on itself only to expand again and diffuse into the universe I wonder if you notice the ampersand of my mouth every breath giving birth to letters and numbers forming mushroom clouds beneath the ceiling-- Each breath is potential every gaze a new word melded somewhere between this life and the unrealized Cool finger tips caress along my meridian lines tracing out the next stanza of a broken hearted widow or a school girl named Jaimie. I writhe with(in) this ink like a carbon copy pressed to metal, the pressure subsides and all that is left are faded imprints of the original There's a question mark on my forehead, it refuses to break loose.
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