You were my child,
my priority,
my responsibility,
my spouse,
my delightful melancholy,
my breathtaking Christmas,
during moments of despair.
What perfect misfortune
would bring about
the same terrifying nights next to you.
I missed you.

My lord,
I decay,
Then I flourish,
I collapse,
Then I sprout out,
Wounds,
Chasms,
split open,
Rupturing,
Overexposing The virtuousness,
Ripping it out of my flesh.
I am in agony,
but I love you.

it’s been a while
since I wrote something—
something to name
the numbness in me.

I haven’t gotten better,
but I haven’t gotten worse.
days blend into each other,
work blurs into static,
time marches on.

I don’t feel a thing—
or maybe
I feel everything.

a numb little mouse,
trapped in my room,
I wake up fine,
then spend the day
trying not to fall apart.

a text from a friend—
and I smile,
like maybe the day
won’t drown me after all.

but then night comes.
I stare at the moon
and wonder:

what is this feeling
boiling inside me?

emotions—so fragile,
spinning like yin and yang
but blurred,
lost.

and still, I wonder:
why is it
so empty
inside?

Here I go,
once again—
cigarette smoke,
empty page.

Romanticizing pain,
self-destructing on my own.

“Your words are so pretty.”
“Thanks—they’re a cry for help,
you know?”

With just one ring, the world stood still,
A question asked, a heart to fill.
A whispered yes beneath starlight,
Two souls entwined that gentle night.

Is never sufficient,
Always lacking
In its allocation.

Thoughts demand
Extension.
Lives ache
For replenishment.

But time
Is Scrooge-like—
Clutching its wealth,
Refusing
Generosity.