Some moments can be felt
as though they are written
into a chapter of your life.
The intensity of an event piercing
through the thin paper of your being,
bleeding onto several following pages.
Pull out a book and write
in the margins,
the words only matter if you
ponder them,
and let their meaning drip
from your mind.

My love doesn't love me anymore.
She says my kisses she abhors.
And living with me is a heinous chore.
To stay here... She'd rather be a street *****.
Throwing her wedding ring on the floor.
If she ever had to touch me again,
It would be to **** me she swore.
As she set fire to the wedding dress she wore.
"I hope you choke to death while you snore!"
"I hate you right down to your core!"
"You're such a hideous eyesore!"
"Grrr! The wasted yore!"
"Touch me, nevermore!"

There is a fact I can't ignore.
She wishes for me to leave,
it doesn't matter which door...
My love doesn't love me anymore.

you're only hurting yourself,
putting in all this effort,
for people who don't give a **** about you

you would comb the earth
a thousand times over
searching for a pin
if they asked.

they wouldn't even bend over
to pick up a pencil for you,
let alone risk cutting themselves
trying to mend your shattered glass heart.

You feel that you're falling, but
that's just your body rising to the skies.
See the sun shining upon the green fields
let the rain tickle you and
smile with your soul.

I know it hurts,
it does, of course,
after all
there's a war in your soul,
but, I tell you,
it's only your demons falling
the good in yourself is the one with the glory.

It's confusing, your legs are still weak
but slowly you'll forget about crawling
and start walking instead.

It takes time, you know
after living in the dark
it's hard to get used to the light
but you'll see
your eyes will stop hurting
and with the moon they'll shine
in the highest skies.

I know it's scary
and you only want to hide
you feel you're fading
but trust me when I tell you:
*You are not dying,
you're coming back to life.

He scoops sands in baskets

then balancing neatly on the shoulder
carries to where needed
through bone breaking hours.

Upon his footprints is there a name
or a home
where he goes back for the night
lands featherlight kiss on a woman
awakes her sleepy bones with her hands
forgetting his days sinking in the sands.

To stand at the breakers , at the whim of -
warm tidewaters , cleansed in the saline , spume -
chemistry , yearning to deliver the ghost imperishability
Physicality's iron manacles unbolted