I have slept so little these last few days
everything feels stilted and distant. I am
a specter in my own life-turned-dream.
Tomorrow, I won’t wait for things to change.
Life stops, starts, stops again. We are mercurial and
vindictive. We are open-hearted and full of adoration.
We are crumpled like the coals burning in the fire, we
are ashen and we are dying and we are burning, still,
I dreamt I couldn’t touch you with my fists,
that you put rifts between bloodlines that may never heal.
I think the only solution to shake this discontent
is to feel the way your bones compact beneath mine.
My mother used to trip over certain words
like they were landmines in her mouth.
We welcome the night,
we linger in it’s embrace
and take our time tasting the air.
I do not love you
because when I cried
you shut me out,
because when I laughed
you grew sour,
you know possession,
you know jealousy,
you know cruelty,
but you don’t know love.
what words are there
in the language we share
to tell you there’s no answer
to a question that was never asked
while an answer was ripe to be had?
the thing i’ve learned
since “growing up” happened
when i blinked, is that you can’t
unsign a binding agreement -
there’s no “take backs” in the
real world, the hard world, the
My father taught me that
journeys begin where one takes a step
when all one wants to do is take one back.
we are slashes of color on a torn canvas,
overturned and left in the corner to gather cobwebs
and die the slow, agonizing death of things forgotten -
you can call 911 all you’d like but footprints fade in time
and no one remembers the road you used to live on
when you move away.
I am a thousand different urges bottled into one small person
and I don’t think I can live this way, I can only die this way
but it’s better than nothing at all