Room Temperature Dissolution

Is there anything more depressing than room temperature dissolution?

Excuse me while I step into my mind’s eye and see if I can catch a cool breath.

Everyone here I actually want to talk to,

Or is slowly dying.



Sure it’s lonely,

For most of you are slowly dying,

But its worth it to own all that I can see,

And more importantly the air is alive.

It isn’t mechanically induced into perfection.



Sometimes it bites,

It dances on your skin and makes your eyes burn.

It comes at you from all directions at once,

Instead of incessantly from the vent in the floor.



Sometimes it burns and forces you into a ball in the shade,

And feels as if it is directed only at you.



And the people,

They know exactly what you want to talk about,

As they pull their jackets tighter around there goose bump riddled skin,

And wipe the sweat and dirt from their brow

Their voices flow with the wind,

In and out of audible tones,

Instead of being clear and uninterrupted as they sit on the opposite couch.



All variations are lovely and devastating,

And I fear I may not escape.

Pray that I don’t,

And indeed meld into this place that is mine.