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my mind's a minefield, a garbage dump, a tilt-a-whirl

some mirror maze turned labyrinth 

things go in but they don't come out 

unless they're chewed up, canines still stuck bloody in their sinew

the question on every dendrite's lips is "are we? aren't we?"

and I wish I had the answer

instead of a spiral into a depressive episode

that I pray I'll get out of 

at the very least, my silver lining has a name

he has kind, weathered eyes and a warm smile with them

thoughts of him are cherry cordial here, spiked with prohibition and syrup 

sometimes I can feel how warm he is from all these time zones away

sweet when I'm bitter and bound by the blush rising in my own cheeks

hey, I'll whisper to no one, I love you. I really, really love you.

it's warm like that

I promise it is