I miss ignorance.
Was it really sun lighted innocence 
or a relapse my brain baits me to forget? 
Welcome to my house of ash
the soot of melancholy smudges across my cheeks
we, the lucky bereaved.
most everything is red or charcoal to me.
A spider is lonely on my calf
I stare at the fangs of its chelicerae.
Make me feel something more than just to bleed
I gave a cold confession on linoleum
chilled metal pressed my temple again
ten tablets or ten memories
and I swallowed them all the same.

Sawyer S.