Have you ever liked someone so much you regret meeting them?

This hidden gem
Forgets how to shine bright
Keeps shielded a shimmering soul.

This hidden gem
Is hidden in plain sight
Disguised as a lump of coal.

A waste of space
moves from place to place
with a shameless haste
and a graceless face.
All the space that's wasted
cut and pasted
freedom encased
though briefly tasted.
Laid to waste
that wasted space
limbs were taped
and there defaced;
the sign said "Waste"
to home we raced
at a frenetic pace
footprints traced.
The edge of space
where fruit met waste -
a confusing place
reeks of **** and fine lace.
A waste of space
wearing my face
lost the race
to the black dog's pace.
But just in case
here's a place that
cannot be wasted:
bed frame's embrace.

line the shores
with hospital beds
let them sleep by the sea

if nothing else
they can jump the fence
untethered from the bodies

but when the credits roll
i still won't get up to leave
because behind the smoke screen of relapse
there's figures waiting for me  

some days i'd like to stay
some days i'd like to drift away
i've never had an original thought
but i keep thinking them anyway

so what will it be: a slice of life, or a chunk of wrist?

(but we)

good morning from the after life
the 2am program
battered brains and battered fish
take the drug, make the wish

(are still)

good morning from where its sunny all the time
where you are the laugh track
your smile stuck, held up like a hammock in a light wind
no need to forgive when no one has sinned

(followed)

good morning from the place where dogs always catch their tails
russian roulette with the chambers of a loaded heart
and we're happy and we're glowing and we're glad
love what we've got, forget what we had

(by our own shadows)

volte face
pivot away from
the old place
where ***** mirrors
accentuate
cracks in the skin;
too wide or
too thin.

hymns from a chasm
that sits in between
they


and


them.

without turning away
dreams (yours and ours)
will fall limper,
whimper,
simmer under hot sun
as they're hung from the ramparts
gnarled and ragged
like the crest of a defeated army

volte face
pivot away from
the dead space
where bruised silences
accentuated
the cracks in your brain;
too much in
not enough sane.

and you will write a million """Poems"""
and they will be about as useful
as a blind man's reading glasses.

and all these gods are in one place
conspiring and -
all your efforts are misplaced
whining like an -
off-key note in a seraphic choir
lamenting a -
weekend's bitter aftertaste.

here's a thing you can't avoid:
a war of worlds on a bedroom floor
the house is kept unlocked at night
and a crosswind billows through the door.

...and all his questions are ignored
he chipped his teeth cause he was bored.

we wrote missives to a shallow grave
dug with musicals we rearranged
to fit the arc we fashioned here
as we waltzed atop the sinking pier.

...I am prone to switching off
So I will never turn you on.