Tragedy rips through you like fire
And ***** all the oxygen from the room.
Lungs wheeze.
Cling to the earth, crawl forward.
There is no escape from the flames.

Sorrow consumes you,
Leaving charred remains.
Blackened and fragile.
The slightest touch,
Crumbles to ash.

Hope hangs in the air around you.
A breeze that scatters ash
To the ether.
Air that inflates.
Oxygen that rejuvenates.
It's the first breath
After being trapped in a fire.

Happy Birthday Levi,
I hope you enjoy your day.
You deserve to be felt up,
in each and every single way.

I haven't got you a present
But if you join me when no one is looking,
I will put on something saucy
And give you a good...Hug.

Into a bug a drawing pin
Secured to collection of sorts
A neat inscription lies beneath
Latin, commonly known as, caught.

Sometimes a person gets carried away.
Sometimes it becomes impossible to control yourself.
Sometimes you don’t want to keep your cool.

We’ve all been there, it starts as a little ******.
A low level buzz that starts right at the base of your skull.
It spreads down your neck, across your shoulders
It slithers down your arms to the palms of your hands.
It tingles.
It grows stronger and your palms tingle all the more, desperate to take action.
You clench your fists to quench their thirst, but that just gives you ideas.
Your body is alive,
That little ****** has evolved, coursing through every part of you.
Jaw tightens, you contain it.

Sometimes you don’t want to.
Sometimes it becomes impossible to control yourself.
Sometimes a person gets carried away.

A myriad of expletives and insults rush forward.
You strike out, a beautiful and self righteous detox.

Anger.
It’s an eloquent little ******, isn’t it?

You’re back again, I knew you would be.
Your visits are how I mark each day as ending now,
The time between them stretches and drags,
Like a ******* great chasm of solitude.
I do feel guilty though, for enjoying your visits.
It’s selfish for me to enjoy something that makes you suffer so,
I see pain and grief contort your features with every minute that you stay.
It is not right for you to be here, with me.
They may be the highlights of my new existence,
But of what benefit are they to you?
I see you deteriorate before me and
I would weep if I could.

Your high heels glitter
But they don’t shine
With your jet black hair
And lips so sublime.

You look so perfect
But I see through the façade
With your steely eyes
And fists clenched so hard.

I know your intent
I can read your thoughts
Like a fly to a spider
In your web he’s caught.

So Miss Seductress
You have reached your goal
It’s just another client
Chipping away at your soul.

I can’t decide which is worse.
The sickly sweet aroma of
Countless wreaths
Or the burning of
Formaldehyde running through my veins,
It doesn’t matter.
It occurs to me that my senses should not be this alert,
I shouldn’t be able to hear
The muted voices, the mournful eulogy,
I shouldn’t feel the satin lining protecting
My icy flesh.
I wonder what comes next.
Shouldn’t I have moved on?
I feel like I’m late.
My funeral drags on.
I anticipate the moment my body is given back to the earth.
Eternal slumber
Six feet under.