there is nothing real
to be had here,
in this land of
perpetual winter.

(hung up on you)
and so tired
of this
parade of fools.

it's nothing serious, no
i fade              
and shift
into the
background
        holding
onto cold, dark
         winter
warm candlelight and
the feel of you,
but
no, it's nothing serious
     see me      
advance          and
retreat
relishing the spring
air
songs of you

even in
the wilds
of
   west virginia

maybe if i
could
        e  a  t
all the words
then
i would
know
know
know.

at the fire
the words
we coming fast
time shifting
s l o w i n g
smoke billowing
and i
breathed them in
wrapped their
essence around
my mind.

but
the words were
temporal
quickly moving
and lost.

but maybe if
i could eat the words
i would know.

facing
m y s e l f
is the
worst kind of hell.

it doesn't matter
who i love,
or hate.
it
just matters
that i am.

amount of
sour cream
l
love
you.

(press play to continue watching)

Netflix checks in on me
more than you do.

caffeine jitters
pushing around
the graphite
wild horns
trailing in the air
and
i am distracted.

you have to
be able to see
the subtlest shadow
the smallest
retreat of light

to shape a thing.

you cannot be afraid
of the
sharp line
of contrast

of the mistake.

you have to
put down the line.

i am distracted.

what have i made?

what have i done?

long drive on
autopilot

glimpses of mascara
smudges in
the rearview mirror

songs chosen for
their visceral sadness

an utter trainwreck of
good intentions
and
for the life of me
i can't figure out
what to do
or say

(out of wine)


the message is clear,
you will find no comfort here.

i lay them all
next to you
scrutinizing
measuring
taking stock

discarding one
after another.

hanging off my bed
with all the drama
my thirty-five years
can muster,
i cry
because suddenly,
i can see time's tendrils
reaching around
my eyes,
and i feel old.

choose truth
or
choose hope.
you can't have both.

i cared so little,
i didn't even bother to
line my eyes in black,
no point in trying
to change the shape
of things to come.

my god,
i am counting the words
in years.
don't you recognize me?
haven't you
been loved
like this before?

i cannot write
because
i cannot *feel

things that were beautiful
robbed of meaning
cast aside

the pale winter sun
faded
o b s c u r e d
behind a frigid
blustering wind

and i think of you.

i feel a storm approaching
like a silent wave
it looms
preparing
to roll mercilessly
over me.

three is better
than two is
better than one
when greatness is
inspired in none.

you liked
(and you spoke)
pretty eyes looking into mine
mischievous eyes
blinking so innocently

lights were red
and the air a veil
still, hands moved
oh, the blood moved

once upon a time,
once upon a time.

and mind to numb
i
i
i
lose my flow with the sun.

i remember
looking at you
in the dim light,
overcome.

we all make choices.
i see that you have made yours...
nothing less than vile
a scant shadow of a human
i used to know.
one cannot despair
in the loss of such a thing.

i am a fury
and i am against you.
i am on fire
and i stand against you.
i am hard
*and i rail against you.

something happened
to my   w o r d s
something happened
to my  t h o u g h t s
and what was explosive
is now still.