All that is mine I carry with me.

My frosted spectacles
With the tiniest crack on the surface
Just enough to make them special.

My leather wallet
Beaten by years of rain and use.
Inside, a polaroid of the one I consider divine.

My keys
For what I do not exactly remember.
They stay nestled in the back of my pocket, rusting slowly.

My lyric book,
Complete with unfinished ideas that ****** at the
Back of my head, pleading to be finished one day.

My Memories,
Which have a repugnant smell of loss
That I embrace with open arms.

My ‘Dreams’,
A potent synthesis of reoccurring nightmares
Fundamentally unrequited in its presence.

My Addictions,
Virulent Vampires leeching droplets
off who I adore so dearly.

My Love,
You too are being ripped away
So quickly.

I think for now
I shall stare at my lyric book wistfully
Through my spectacles, hoping for redemption.

Perhaps one day I will again be able
To show you the Polaroid I hold so dearly
And finally get to use these keys.

All that is mine, I carry with me;
Hopefully I could one day
carry her too.

Items Before
There you see the item in front of you
What you ask is that?
It could be anything you want it to be
A car or a bike or bus or trike
Or a helicopter or plane or UFO
Let alone something smaller
For example a cup or brush or key
Does it matter what the object is?
As long as there is something there?
Each item is made and used by people
It could be you or me or another
Who made or used that item
That is right there before us

I will, someday, be the first in line to the opening of your estate sale.
I will buy all of your furniture to keep this part of you alive.
We keep remnants and pieces, as we scatter  memories like your charred remains across a place you once knew.

I want to love the carousel figurine
you forgot you once owned and sing the sweet melodies of the music box you once fell asleep too each night.
For the depth of something once loved and now lost, is impenetrable to pain.

As all things are made, and all things are to be loved and lost or forgotten.
I want to love all the things once loved by others.

I am the lamp, I am this lighting, using up electricity
I am the wall, I am this part of your expensive home
I am the car, I ride too and from, to work and fun
I am the computer, I addict you and take up your time
I am the heater, I warm you and keep you from sickness
I am the stove, I cook your food and boil your water
I am the fridge, I protect your food and liquids from spoiling
INSTANTLY

And you are my slave, you will do what I say in return,
Anything and everything, now that you have these things,
You can never be alone, never have a day off, never be free,
Never have enough time to rest or stay at home with family,
*EVER AGAIN.

In the bag,
you can find a dictionary;
you can find words
like
“alone,”
“gone.”

You can find
a week’s worth
of candy wrappers,
too many empty pill-bottles,
blunt pencils
and ripped pages
and crumpled notes
and band-aids
that didn’t help.

If you looked deeper,
you might find lottery tickets,
forgotten phone numbers
and puzzle pieces
and more empty things,
bottles,
containers,
bags,
hearts.

More words:
“lost,”
“missing,”
“unknown;”

some dust
and pennies
and elastic bands
and plastic knives
and drastic decisions
and

nothing

except
maybe

a few more words