The post-it notes uncurled over time.
The remnants adhered to the
insides of dead yellow
soldiers
on the great beige, low pile, battlefield.
Everything I own is
now covered
in a fine layer
of psychedelic neon
snowfall.
Oranges, blues, pinks,
off-whites.
prescriptions, quick fixes.
Band aids over bullet holes.
Hold that mirror up to your face
a little longer,
maybe you'll notice
your reflection,
and gain a new perspective,
trying to read between the lines.