your words fortify the strings that tie my heart together
and with your regular field dressings, your mindful dactyls
pruning the excess fat from my anguished droopy eye; perhaps
it is tomorrow that is young and I will never know your fingers
on my face or your face upon my fingers. These are the gelid slopes
where the tern's claw decides our fate. Woman's Fugue emblazoned upon
my sudorific brow and overtly outstretched limbs. Every day is heavier than the last, and the latter brings unfaithfulness between the

and she spoke words that would melt in your hands

Your as lively as a brick
And cold as ice.
Your clock no longer ticks,
For your time has run out.
Your  forced to wonder about
For all eternity,
But here you can find a friend in me.
I cannot take you above or below,
but here you shall stay.
You always are the same.
Never older, nor younger.
You never tire, nor hunger.
I can always find you in this place,
the place with the stones,
one stone in particular, lies what's left of you.
Your soul and bones.

please tell your ghost to stop following me
and whispering in my ears
that i was not good enough
please tell your ghost to stop following me
and calling me sweetheart
and putting his hands all over me
please tell your ghost to stop following me
and watching me while i cry
about how i miss you
please tell your ghost to stop following me
and laying in bed with me
keeping me from closing my eyes
please tell your ghost to stop following me
if i can't have you
then i don't want your
ghost

“If you spend your life sparing people’s feelings and feeding their vanity, you get so you can’t distinguish what should be respected in them.”

As Fitzgerald said, "Give me a hero
                                   and I'll write you a tragedy."
--and that kind of running never lets you down.