Perhaps my vascular flora is returning

with the wind sweeping away my feet

and I can look at the sun again

without feeling the scorching heat.

Perhaps I can fight my battles with yours

to again prove I’m worth peace

while boxing my chaotic thoughts

to force these tornadoes to cease.

Perhaps I can clear one notion up:

these words are strictly about me

and all the things I say about you

despite your pseudo-apathy.

Perhaps I write with empty heart,

its blood a vantablack sea,

yet I feel blessed it pulses not

by lust and pride and greed.

Perhaps my vascular flora is returning

with the wind sweeping away my feet

and love will love my mind again

and freeze its warmth like sleet.