It sits there,
on the tip of my tongue,
at the bottom of my stomach,
like tar after many cigarettes.
All the fumes polluting my body
are as dark as night,
and as black as fear.
Ah, and it begins to churn.
To twist and knot
what I thought was empty and lost.
My heart fills with smoke,
a yearning beats in ears.
I can hear it slow itself down.
Like trains fading into the scenery
of green trees and blue skies.
And once it’s all gone,
all I can hear are the blue birds singing
And the trees swaying in the wind.