Evening is on the take
The sun herself senses it
Her heat is slipping away
Eclipsed by cold, arctic tendrils
Rilling through the fragile geography
Earth is a strong fighter though
Able to restore itself in serene defiance
Light she brings to keep night in its place

I’ve met the night a hundred times—
She carries no remorse,
Her silver hand upon my chest
A silent, steady force.

Her breath is like a frozen hymn,
Too soft for earth to hear—
Yet chills my soul, and bends my will
Until it disappears.

I sought to end the endless ache
With shadows on the wall,
But shadows only shift and shrink,
And answer not my call.

There is no mercy in the stars,
No kindness in the frost—
Yet some persist to claim that light
Redeems what has been lost.

End me, then, O faithful dark—
Unbind this brittle form,
And leave me not to linger here
Through one more bitter storm.

She smiled,
but only barely,
like it was a secret she didn’t want
you to know.

And for a second,
it felt like the world
might not be so bad after all.

Time is a starving god
And each year she becomes more savage
Her gluttonous face stuffing
My years drip from her cheeks
As if my slow aging is payment for my existence
I give a year to live the next
Turning life onto a sacrificial death
To appease an ever unsatisfied deity
A mindless consumer of the harshest variety

Another lovely morning.... I wake up drenched in sweat.
What is it that grips me? Squeezing me in my sleep?
Returned to the mercy; of some external force.
Each night takes me places, my body proves remorse.

I weep as often as I laugh
not from sorrow, nor from joy,
but because the world hums,
and I refuse to be deaf to it.