Jessica Schuler has lived in California, Illinois, and Wisconsin; she currently resides in Missouri where she works as an Assistant Teacher at an Early Childhood Education Program.
Reflection through a central hetero chromatic pair of crimson lights lingering upon a wrinkled core. Vanished around you the surrounding scenery, after a gleam of its subconscious the moment we awoke.
You - stuck in a trance. Her - motionless body lying on the carpet like paints on a canvas.
It pierced through your heart like that snooty professor who touched you; and with his scalpel, carved an entrance to her soft spotted mind. Now fragile like your newborn’s head.
Cries from the child she bore to you. As you spoke, its eyes rose to the ceiling like a hot air balloon disappearing into the clouds.
You drop to the floor, weeping petals, fallen from dying roses you bore to your mother. Withered and she’s counting to you: synchromatic, heterochromatic, symptomatic…
She drops to the floor. Crimson-ized, cloud nine, cloudy eyed raindrops attempting escape through nothing more than everything, flooding nothing more than everything. And her face.
Droplets of anguish stabbed the skin that heals you, the hands that feed you.
You - stuck in a trance. Her – sleeping in a coffin.
Are you ready for the nineteen year burial?
You’re getting dressed for a funeral, but no one died.
Snap out of it, my friend... You’re just tired.