It's a
     magic thing,
but in a blue way.
In a bewitching, but
bitter kind of way.
It's a
     chilling thing,
the
way my thoughts
become
dark.
The way they drain,
slowly from
my head,
and onto the floor,
where you later
slip
on them.

And when I meet
you there
           on the
wood boards,
where you've
fallen,

I find it
                hard to
come up with the
words

to glue
you back together.
And damn,
that hurts like hell.



e.campagna