Some things change colour ( maybe I can too)

 Maybe if epiphanal moments didn't shatter
into the iridescent fragments of colour
that fall with the sand of the backs of beetles
at faintest whiff of self conscious thought
then they wouldn't be worth rolling through the thoughts that bind them to your being
it's just a feeling
that hasn't grown enough to mush beneath a thumb
but the idea of delivering to deaths door
pain borne and drowned in its own birthing waters
well, the irony has been choked from that image
so instead
it might be worth it someday
to just once
try breathing like it means something