A lighter in my hand
Cigarette in the other

My mouth hurts like knives
And my stomach eats at my insides

The tiny stick catches flame
And smoke rises with my pain

I inhale the relief and waste
And whatever else it contains

It’s a tiny minute fire
Like my dying desire

To die in a six foot deep ditch
With nothing but my pack of cigarettes

And a busted overused lighter
I hope it catches my body on fire

When dirt covers my rotting corpse
And flora starts to grow

Don’t put a gravestone over me
For I do not have a name to be known

By the world the life and sun
It can’t get me anymore it can’t make me want to run

I hope flowers grow over my body despite the fumes
Like the smoke and soot that I consume

When the world grows
too loud or too fast,
it’s a good idea
to take a step back
and huddle away
into an empty space
where neither sound
nor time
can hurt you,

let silence envelop
your soul—not your self.

Eventually
the grass will grow
and the wind will settle,
all will slow
like in a lush meadow,

and far away
will the struggle drift.

The sky will grow white
with clouds that never rain,
gardens will grow green
without a single ****,

the sun will beat down
not bullets but care,
that nurtures the grass blades
through growth
and lifts the vapour into
the air.

Dimensions and galaxies will
pause,
for the universe cannot
feed.

And all will be.

My insides smell like
Cinnamon

But taste
like
wilted

flower petals;
Dry,
bland,
Dead, gone,
Desaturated colours
in my pupils

I melt into a pile of ash in
The ground

With the rest of the infertile soil,
With the insects
With the lush green grass
and the birds
and their nests full of twigs
And chirps
And songs
And hums
And sounds
That echo
That resound
That stay
That fly

With the sky.
Buried with my name.

Until it turns to night,

Then the
moon
and
stars

come out

And
I

Hide

A

W

A

Y

.

Woken up from a dream,
the world the same
as it’d been left
My bed still creaks,
The sky still rains,
The birds still scream my fading name
My heart still beats,
My legs still break
I’ll burn to death in the wildfire
And wake up,
Still the same.

Axe in my hand,
head in the plan,
blood pools around my feet

Where I stand.

Raised in surrender,
Fallen contender,
Will you still be in front of me
When the war has ended?

Arrow in my hand,
A face off in the plan,
Guilt pools around my feet

Where I stand.

The price that you pay,
The winnings I take,
The sacrifice

I am

Unwilling to make?

Don’t die on me now,
My heart kisses the ground,
Winter melts away as the
Sun comes around.

I drop to my knees
Among the dirt and wheat
As I fall to a man
As unloving as me.

Your claws in my own,
And an evil that goads
At us
laughs at the victory

Of taking your throne.

I hope when I’m buried
Under an aging tree
I see your face,
carved into the bark

Staring back at me.

I stand on a cliff,
at the edge of the world.
Letting the wind and the sky envelop

me.

I run for it.
I run for the adrenaline and the life.
The ground breaks beneath
my feet

I float with the air,
the sun is in my hands.

The world crumbles.
Nevermind,
the stars still look after me

even as I
awake.

Worth anything?
It’s killing me
Worth anything?
No, that can’t be.

My failures and mistakes
make up who I am.
So when you tell me that it’s okay
What am I supposed to say to that?