Melting

I am melting, 

My skin is keeping my form. 

I am melting, 

The white flame is scorching my soul.

I want to scream, 

Scream: “I am melting!” 

But what can they do? 

The weather is the weather, 

And it doesn’t. 

I am melting. 

The sweet melting ice cream of summer days, 

Dropping down, splashing onto the white tiles, 

A pile of pleasure, melting. 

Oh my heart is melting outside of me, 

Melting as my blood boils bodily, 

And my soul melts out of my body, 

Across the cosmos into the sweet sea of incapacity. 

My future is roaring, 

And my past stands behind me, 

Watching me—pushing me—killing me—

The space twists with temperature, 

Oh World, are you also melting? 

Or is it me? 

The melting eye whites down my chest 

Melting my world

Melting morbidly? 

No, I can’t save my melting flesh, 

For my hands are melting too. 

It falls, my tears fall across my melting hands, 

Under the calm white night.

I’m melting and melting and something is being born inside me, 

Like a buffalo broth defrosting. 

What is born, what is born? 

Yes, that thing. That nothing. 

Melting across the green fields and melting down the river and 

Melting with the angels and 

Melting with whatever should not be melting and 

Melting as my world melts

Into that nothing

Are you pitying me? 

Is this why you are also melting? 

Whatever melts melts silently

In a tremolo. 

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