Here I am,
sitting in my new old room
drinking coffee to keep me awake
writing new old words
from ideas that are recycling in my brain.
There is nothing but
hand-me-down sounds
reclaimed by my slowly failing ears
that lend nothing but
thoughts that will eventually lead to
my new, but never unthought of demise.
My new-to-me street
sings lullabies of past goodbyes
that may someday be echoed
by my own lips.
I breathe air from trees
that are much older than me
and have seen the passing of time
through the years.
Other people
with their new and old ways
break in new and old habits
that will stay with this place forever.
While I sit on this bed,
my head spins with the thought
that someone may soon
be sitting in this new old room
and think the same thoughts
as I am right now.

My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.

The vulture is a peaceful bird
She watches, circles patiently
Waiting for life to become death
So she can gather what she needs

The vulture does not maim or slay
And causes neither harm nor strife
She walks in the shadow of death
And so turns death back into life

her auburn hair was messy,
And I figured it reflected who she was,
Bright but a mess,
And I was absolutely right.
she’s the type of girl that stays up all night,
Just to look at the moon and watch the sunrise
she believes there’s still more to learn,
more people to love.
and she never stops.
she never stops working, she never
Stops loving people,
Even when others deem them unworthy.
She spends her days saving lives,
Couldn’t bare to save her own.

And everyday she wakes up,
So full of love, but so scared to invest in anyone
She just wants her mind to stop racing.

Her clothes drape loosely on her body,
And her eyes don’t shed a tear anymore
she puts on her warpaint.

Like a porcelain doll,
She shatters,
Her soul crumbles into tiny specks,
Her being fades into nothingness,
And she no longer exists.