Yellow

I was on cocaine, bath salts, and pot.

Awake in the parking lot of the harbor,

my whole corpse shaking like the color yellow -

wanting to finally reach my potential

as a person - a human being,

kissing the sores on my lips.

 

I miss the stains of your lips,

on the rims of my glasses and the pot

holes all down your street. I miss being

the reason you harbor

all those stolen feelings, with yellow

light - burning through all our potential

time together. Potential

I could have had, to kiss those lips.

I sang a song last night - Yellow

Submarine. Smoked the last of my pot

and since I was a lesser being

I went to drown myself in the harbor.

 

To this day I still harbor

unresolved feelings of our potential.

Wishing we were one being

and not two sets of lips

boiling away in the kitchen pot

with a patina around it's rim in yellow

rust. It melts like yellow

margarine. I drive to the harbor

alone. Hitting all the pot

holes on the way there. With the potential

to kill myself spilling bloody from my lips.

I wanted to stop being.

 

There was no sense to my being

anymore. The yellow

sun came up and I burned my lips

with the salt from the harbor.

I had limitless potential -

even without the pot.

 

Bloody lips stinging from harbor

water. I was out of pot not potential

- being - All I felt … was yellow.