"I tried. I tried. I tried."
A scream so desperate it turns into the grating whine of a whipped dog. The begging in the eyes and the white of gripping knuckles.
"I tried, I promise I tried."
The damage is massive. I cradle the shoulders of the full-grown man in my left arm, my right hand hovering helplessly across where half his body used to be. It's too much. He's shaking, trying to pull himself into my chest, based on the feel of his hands. I find his eyes. He's begging, repeating himself with agonizing desperation. I grip his face firmly in my right hand, smearing blood and sweat. The pressure on his jaw slows his words and he is staring at me with the deep-eyed trust of a loyal hound, sinking into the promise of my unwavering gaze.
"You did well," I murmur, giving his head a gentle shake to emphasize my words. I blink to clear the pooling in my eyes. His mouth is open, slack, but he tries a smile. He is choking. On bone or blood, something I cannot see. His legs **** convulsively, but he doesn't seem to notice. He keeps my eyes. I gently rock his head with my hand and his eyes grow absent. His legs grow still.
I weep into his mangled chest.

But who else will have peace in their palm
When they lay it across
My ribs
At night.

Who else
As they slumber beneath
A blanket of freckles and
Dreaming eyelids,
Will whisper into the dark air
With a gentle cadence of breaths
The particular softness that cradles my heart
And lets me

Close my aching eyes

And rest.

If I had a million hearts,
they'd all be yours.

it will be a very long time
before i stop thinking of your lips
every time
i hear the word
*"kiss"

arms draped in crescents
eyes open to the pale nighttime sadness
we lay like a mural on the darkness of bedsheets
we shiver like silver
stars leave their trails on our cheeks

we have never been more radiant
we have never been more heartbroken
we are the moon

Crashing whitecaps peaking
A sound tsunami
Shingles glistening
Groynes mossy
Seaweed pungent in the salt filled air
The rhythms old as time
Remind us of our insignificant mortality
A marine metronome soundtracking our existence

Time, on its canvas,
Sketches mortality in dust
Lying, and ego coffined.

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!