Green Glass.

It all started out as an experiment.

One said; "you have led no life from here,

You have not once witnessed the world

when it has the power to open your lungs,

and it all escapes, and you see stars."

Days spent in solitude are such an existence:

To love is to survive,

To survive is to walk around wearing earphones,

To smile is to learn to create prints

with spots of paint around the edges.

It is my nature to make science of art-

My hypothesis serves: are they genuine

when they smile?

No.

This is just a statistic.

So we walk the green glade of hollow glass,

Shattering one layer after another,

Laying on top of some with warm arms,

Breathing in front of others and tracing demons,

With warm breaths,

We warn people before we take our first step,

We walk through like floating,

we slip through the cracks with bright seagull shrieks,

Calling the waves back home.

When they are so warm, without

An inch of tundra below;

Am I not enamoured by the truth?

Am I not overwhelmed by friendship and new promise

and the chances they take to love?

"Hello."

Just a number.

I understand why she said,

"We cannot stay,"

When there is so cold and here, so warm,

Without an inch of wooden walls

soaked with rain and refusing to break.

I understand why she wanted

To stay here where we can close doors,

Where we can be close and distant,

and love all the same.

Have I led life?

Doesn't it wave from the corner?

Like smoke reaching halfway across the Arctic,

And reminds me that I am only trapped

when I have closed my door against them all.

My hypothesis serves: are they genuine

when they smile?

Maybe.

Isn't this real?

this

Thing like sugar and lemon,

Thing like ashen fire,

Thing like volcano and hurricane and

Love and wishes and small 'Mento!' things,

Thing like yes and no and yes again,

Soft thing of pillow and warm water

and cat fur across your elbow.

Like soft smiles and worry,

Filling a house with furniture;

Three rooms and two beds,

One large wardrobe with clothes stacked atop,

With clothes hanging outside,

With soft blues and bright reds and fond yellows,

And perfumes and tissues and

Nothing in the bin.

.

Conclusion:

I have grown far too attached

In one day.

One said; "you cannot lead life from here.

You have not once witnessed a world

which has the power to open your lungs,

and it all escapes, and you see stars."

-:D

[I know this is rather fresh - undrafted and unedited. Sorry about that. Thank you :)]