Blues to Black - Owen

The colors tend to fade

Blues to black, reds to grey

I can see them with my eyes closed

Light refracted like it once was

In a room with more mirrors than books

Your prose needs editing but your poses are well rehearsed

Concessions that I make

I’m not looking to be deified — I ain’t no saint

It’s you I see with my eyes closed

Unfinished fiction that my mind wrote

In a room on the floor in the mirror

I watch myself move as if you were here

The cool side of the pillow on the wrong side of the ocean

Fearless flies in my mouth

Dead moths in the sheets

Lie so still like paralytic

Tonight I’ll sleep in the gutter

Tomorrow I won’t remember

By the time I’m home this nightmare will be only a dream