you say i didn’t try– but you just closed your eyes every time i showed you scars forming from your paper cuts you say i didn’t try– while you deftly knotted ties with the hands that once held me you grant your final gift of love you say i didn’t try, but i did– it… Continue reading futile
on a windy day secret creatures roll out to the streets to play, careless of oncoming traffic that illuminate the hill, and strike my mirage broken. the streets are still lonely and there are still only dead leaves, not creatures tumbling dry on broken pavement. the wind rocks me over warning lines that shake me… Continue reading memento mori
the sun set trees on fire, releasing dying embers, pirouettes in the wind. i count them, like i count the minutes until the day ends, like i will count the dust on that last day, when i can look up a final time from underneath it all. there are no faces above me tonight. just… Continue reading fall
it is a fact that the grass is much greener where you water it, yet while these stiff blades craved a flood the salty waterworks provided a temporary wonder until the salt reached its roots and stung my tongue, licking long lost wounds a reminder— the grass that is dead can yet still be watered
like a thief that comes quietly in the night like the aroma of summer and a firefly's light the deepest feelings of love and loss wash over you simply, like an old wave rolling its daily duty on a faraway shore it feels like a morning commute it tastes like unlocking your door, and so… Continue reading still
i did not know what was in front of me, until i read between your parentheses, sharp enough to cut through these cataracts, exposing earthy eyes, sunlight at midnight. it was not until you understood what was meant to be said and what is carefully, not, that your deep crevices became the secret field where… Continue reading between the lines
it is easy to swallow your pride when you are tired of sleeping at night with an empty stomach. the rocky shores of nausea full of poison, void of purpose. gulp the bolus of their lies and sleep full, round, bright like the moon before it dies its monthly, dimming death.