and I am so,
so,
sorry for the terrible poesy. The
hum
of creating hasn't quite
left me yet, though it may be in-
evitable.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 7:50 AM UTC
and all you've left is
another layer to dry,
blue over my heart.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 7:22 AM UTC
you uttered my name
once, months ago, a question
I left unanswered.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 4:51 AM UTC
the first tragedy:
in two months you'll be gone -
there's really not much point in staying.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC
she reaches for the
buds of
early October
and the night,
well-worn
by comet-trails and matchstick
wishes,
aches,
ablaze.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 6:32 AM UTC
We tread in silence, wreaths upon
Gravestones, where you lie amongst
Flowers unpicked, at rest.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 11:21 AM UTC
I am not a poet.
Who are you to call me one
When all I do is cram out As and
Words that don't mean a thing,
Pretentiousness masked as literature,
Romanticized depression in monochrome.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 11:10 AM UTC