shelves and dust

This is your library

Cold Dust

Easily Inhaled

Heavy Floors

Sinking into hardness

And the walls, real soft.

They bend,

impossible to lean-

Pure oatmeal.

Wobble.

What can hold me, now?

The air feels,

as waves do.

Happy stories carry the most sadness.

Loud like a color, quiet like a whisper.

They tell me to stop visiting,

It pains too much.

If I stop reading, I'll forget.

Sharp pains, thoughts of you.

To read with tears,

I've trained them, to see through blurs.

You've lost these books,

I'll keep them.

Your treasures, my treasure chest.

My nights belong to you.