May 30, 1998


Peace comes with a yellow tint that serves as comfort to isolation on a star filled shore. Lovers embrace together, the quiet one looks on. My skin is stained by the sun. Tiny morsels stick like glue. No excuse is needed, I can change with the tide. Here I can confide. One piece of wood left behind to serve as support while the rest continue to smolder smoke that is carried off by the breeze. Fluorescent light reflects in my view casting a trance upon the third eye; the third wheel. My body is bruised from carelessness. Freedom heals.


Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist