Feeling sad and small with tightly wound muscles, in balled fists
I lumber to the backyard.
The itch of my cage tickles the lungs as I slurp the cold march night.
My small yard hushes the creatures announcing my presance.
The wind tosses empty trees,
cracking the branches like drumsticks.
Above me the sky fully lit with the silvery lights,
stars so old they speak no words.

I find a small dim speck, precious.
I name her Sylvia, sweet Sylvia star.
I watch her twinkle, nestled in her corner of the sky, shinning.
Sylvia begins to swell with glow, and then slowly fade.
Her tiny sliver frame swallowed by the night.
Her long life burning out.
I smile up, silently thanking the universe for giving life.
as I smile at the star, sinking into the deepest pool,
the black well of Mother night.
Goodbye my star,
sleep tight.

How long have you been struggling,
with the thoughts and theorems caged inside?
How obtuse the sudden angles
knifing us one stab at a time.
When the equation hangs unbalanced,
we look to correct the path behind
When the choice is always present,
to multiply or to divide.

The afternoon heat hung like a rising fever.
The old iron gates of the school yard wait to swing.
My feet planted near the outskirts.
Sweeping the sticky hair from my face,
alone I wait.

Chocolate melted in my pocket.
Minutes turn to hours.
A gallery of photographs has passed me by.
Panic snickers, searching for your face.
The waiting, the patience,
feeling more like a punch, than a verb.

The chocolate now a sticky ink, staining my pants.
I feel a voyager aboard a lost ship, floating,
hoping for shore.

Sudden without warning,
you grace my sight,
slow motion, near the gate door.
In one swing, you're here.
The wait long forgot,
hung on your beautiful stare.

The nightcap wears off.
My faded world comes in clear.
Pressed fingers tight to my temple,
help to steady the shipwrecked thoughts.
I see black spots, like blackened pieces of a once finely stitched tapestry.

Unsteady limbs claw at the heavy stench,
tipping then spilling a cup once full.

Behind stormy eyelids, lighting cracks through.
Maddening thoughts spawn, slimming the mind.
Mutant feelings bubble, distilled
ready to bottle.

If this scene had a soundtrack, the chords would howl.
The melodious truth could liquefy our yesterday smiles.
Sudden smacks from the bass come to rustle my withered petals.
Tragedy comes in many pauses.
Reach for your collar, and choke the nonsense.
Don't forget to kick the footstool,
hang the little man, guess the right letter
...it's a vowel.

The smog of the gin, has long passed.
What is left, a hammering build.

The cup once full was my solace.
Solace smells a lot like *****.
From the bottom, I smile upward
To the new day, I flip the *******
and linger back to black.

My self worth sleeps
with my self loathing
and the devil is watching
the whole thing go down
and whats one more scar
on a dented heart
and it hurts to breath
but it feels good to bleed
so I keep something sharp
underneath tear soaked pillows
and there is a dream somewhere
saying all this pain is worth it
and there is a reason somewhere
saying to keep my head up
and there is someone
who wants to listen
and there is someone
who wants to say something
and its all been said before
but maybe we can say it
one more time and maybe theres something more to living
than watching the devil
watch my self worth
sleep with my self loathing

Dawn was born in the beginning
Dusk born at the end
Only to circle back to dawn
For dusk to be born again

Circles, cycles turn and die
Then turn around to wave
Morning awakes to live
While night sleeps in her grave

Know the end is not the end
Only a simpler way to phrase
The birthing of a dawn
The beginning of future days.

Nothing more precious than moonstone,
she'd say
Nothing more precious than moonstone.
Deep in her sleep, she'd mumble the phrase,
over and over as if in a craze
Nothing more precious...

What is moonstone to gold, I would think to myself
as her words sputtered broken but heartfelt.
...precious...

I glance at the stone, placed by her bed
kept close and safe, tucked near her head
Moonstone silvery woven like thread
blinds me cold, steals my sight, knocks me dead.

Lovely lips part
the **** is her art.
Nothing more precious...
she brushes close, her breath chokes.
I finish her phrase, dying slow
my finale breath utters in madness
...moonstone.