I awoke from the dream, slowly fading,
with only one image remaining:
As I fished, in a lake, on a boat,
police brought up a body
disfigured by bloat.
A man, with his features erased,
leaving an unrecognizable face.
But then I saw the tattoo…could it be..you?
Sodden and bloated from all of your drinking
your body, heavy,  slowly sinking,
until you descended to the bottom below.
The water is also the sum of my tears.
The dream a depiction
of my sorrows  and fears.
Awake, I know that you’re not dead.
But there’s an emptiness
in my heart and my head.

When a black sheet has been
thrown over the moon
and a million lazy stars
have fallen from view
I hear the wind has
grown tired of traveling
I hear the sound of mandolins
crying in the mountains
I hear the rattle of
gypsy wheels
I hear the heavy hearts
of horses upon the
restless roads of
broken poetry ...
Clay.M

We stood too close,
close enough to feel
the heat off her skin.

She didn’t step back.
Neither did I.

But the air between us
was full of things
we were too afraid to touch.

i’m always tired but sleep won’t come—
a ****** paradox in the neon gloom.
i lie awake in this cold, honest bed,
clean for now, but who can trust that state?

the city moans its tired tune,
a chorus of broken dreams and whispered regrets.
they strut around, calling themselves proud,
but behind the smiles i see the cracks—
the lies, the masks, the slow decay
of all that’s left when reality bites.

i never sleep; my mind’s a relentless engine
rumbling toward another inevitable ****-up.
each morning is a promise of ruin,
each night a desperate bid for escape.
so why not get high, even just for a while,
to numb the ceaseless ticking of self-destruction,
to steal a few hours of peace
in this endless dance with the void?

i stumble through empty bars and midnight streets,
where cigarettes burn like small rebellions
against the weight of tomorrow.
i’m chasing that fleeting rest, a moment’s silence
amid the chaos, before the cycle snaps—
before i crash once more into the unforgiving light
of another **** day.

and so, with each lost second,
i float further into this bittersweet madness,
hoping, somehow, that tonight
i might just find the endlesss sleep
that always eludes my weary soul.

Grief is your
friendly thief,
quietly stealing
your heart,
replacing it with
sadness, anger,
and a heavy
weight of loss.
It stands in shadows
of every corner,
never leaving.
Even when you
think it’s gone,
It steals again

The more it
consumes you,
the less you
recognize who
you once called
“you” in the room
from the process.

Grief is your
friendly reminder
that sometimes
to begin new,
you end what
you once had.

Go to where
poetry is aroused
that's where misery
drinks with company
and over-thinking
smokes with assumptions

That's where the heart
over-fills drinks
to the brim
with
"is this right?"

and wets papers
with poetry
that questions
its creator