Crush

when the day falls apart
disintegrates into nothing but
particles
pixel dot
greys
and navies
and blacks
holes punched in nothing
false beacons to guide you
not stars
but gaps
in the sky

the moondrift will wander by
dragging the clouds
and the wind is aggressive
and cold
like the touch of a lover
gone wrong

and the grass becomes liquid
clinging to skin and to
clothing
possesive
and mean
leaving stains to lay claim
to your hands

and the nightsounds scream angry
cry softly to others
wandering back
on the path that you're on

when the day falls apart
will you whisper down gently
or leave it
smashed dead
on the ground?