you can tell i didn't write this play.
the backdrop is all wrong
and the most important props
are missing--props as in:
that which held me up.

props on which i leaned.
nights are split down the center
and dawn is slow to appear
having forgotten the script
words line up like reluctant ghosts

you see how bad it is?
the scenery doesn't fit the scene
(if that makes any sense)
outside the sky explodes with color
the sky exhales

its breath all gold and glowing
there were mornings...there have been
mornings in life that cut
like a guillotine
searching for the soft throat of dreams

there have been days that were
little more than apologies and promises
and stolen moments
and every dream smelled like hurt blossoms

when morning broke into shards of sunlight