My dust-bin

No memories left untarnished, everything has been used, disused and overused, creating, discovering a plethora of uneasiness, mangled feelings and a whiff of pain.
I had a canvas board that I started an ambitious painting on, a guitar that cried a river, my notebook sank soaked in the blood that meandered from my orphaned thoughts. Then a feather floated down the stream. the bank was orange-red with the ambers that my eyes had shed. I tore it using all the might that my hands could gather. Period.

Orange Sky

Munch munch munch again...the skies agape...burning amber...an upturned umbrella, parched earth, the musk...did we say orange? My ebony lover sang a song for me in Xanadu...