As the leaves fled the branches,
hope of you fell, with your heart to her.
Impressions in your eyes fade to black
as she walked away. Your fingers played
strings of sorrow, still I’ve never sensed
something so beautiful.
Frozen windows hid your fractured heart,
evenings and mornings spent gluing pieces,
shattered fragments of glass with sliced fingers
and tear-stained lenses. I know I am not the one.
I’ve seen you in another season,
each with a different hand cradled carefully in yours.
I’ve watched as flowers, time, and desperate smiles
adorned each in turn. Watched as you
craved their attention, longed for your body next to theirs.
Here I sit, scratched down to the bone, with an
ego bruised down to the core. Digging, turning soil,
Waiting with breath baited. Oh- I know I’ll fill
the void, until something better becomes
your summer home.
May 19, 2021
May 19, 2021 at 2:28 PM UTC
Drink in this private pardon-
a pause, just before the dawn
a stage for darkness to reach its break.
Twirling, clutching skin-
a silent command for eyes to be resting open,
shared, steady, and still-
breath briefly unredeemed.
Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 10:19 AM UTC
Each of your lives has been mourned,
And mourned nine times over-- still,
- there is no reason there.
No residual facet of fact on which this fiction can rely.
Tell me, my wormwood angel, did you choose to die?
Jan 17, 2021
Jan 17, 2021 at 3:49 PM UTC
She tastes hues and hears their vibrancy.
Watch her tending flowers,
utterly entranced by their whispers.
She sleeps in black and white,
unable to accept a world in color.
Jan 16, 2021
Jan 16, 2021 at 10:56 PM UTC