I'm made,
From sand and water,
Pale it is,
Almost gray.
I came out, not quite right,
Like a ghost, my reflection haunts
I try to fit into my box
But this jack just won't match.
I'm mist, drifting through the air.
A cigarette's flame set ablaze.
Something bad for the body.
It makes you ill.
Like a wrapped-up mummy.
I'm squeezed by its tight grip.
I'm blood that's thickened.
That murky feel,
It's blue not bright red.
Cherry in shades that are blue.
I'm soft, not munchy like bread.
Soft enough to hit the ground and scatter.
I am until I'm no more
Fading, swiftly through the air.

© camvickbone