placeboness

to speak of the emptiness resting on the vast landscape ahead belies relief,
re-emphasizes capsized existance, regurgitates guilt & apathy.
but to not speak of it, is to sink into yellowing time with sandstorms that threaten to erase life by wrapping it in folds of lost grainy time.
precious sand slips out from clenched fingers.
dried bones swelter weakly under the magnanimous sun, itching to burst into flames. flames born to be useless.the palette slumbers among lifeless shades of summer.
the fruit lies shrivelled & dead, yearning for a mirage of inspiration.