Purple Leather

My head is full of dust and my eyes of sand.

Unfinished thoughts run through my veins like the headlights you pass through the dark.

Purple leather.

Stuck, enclosed, so much for so little.

My lungs are worn out, like I’ve been breathing for so long.

I haven’t, my breath is hardly used.

Recycling the promises on burt-out tongues.

Purple leather.

Clutching so hard to so much goes by as so little.

So much.

Reflecting more than the glasses in your room, the eyes and the pain behind them.

When the sound stops, my heart stops because they are one in the same.

My mind stops from the sand pouring through the retina of time.

My entire being aches and hurts from want of good and bad.

Missing old poisons and magic that I haven’t yet felt slip through my hands.

The cracks of your fingers pave more than heat in my mind.

Maybe the breath rushes cold for more than one reason.

Purple leather.

Shaking in waiting, shaking for more, shaking for more of the less.

The amber pours through so quickly that it leaves me once more, shaking.

Lack, lack, lack.

Aching for so much that I can’t wrap around like rubber bands of the boys.

So much purple leather.