You're in a never ending cycle of telling yourself you are never quite good enough, asking "What am I lacking?" What a trick you play on yourself, and it seems you have lost yourself while you question your worth.
Come to me, let me help build you up. Feel me right here as I put your insecurities to sleep. Let me remind you even at your worst that you will always be enough, remind you that you are deserving, and that you are worthy, until you believe it for yourself.

-Rebecca Cerrone

A bird has
changed its body,
downgraded to

a requiem of light bones,
a lost map of flight,
a throw of crashed feathers.

Black as old water,
empty as a gutted fish,
still as a prayer,

skinless as the
crashed sky,
eyeless with dismay.

angular,
behind black,
a suggestion of brick;

the spire moon
shadows the roots
under stars,

slight warmth
of sandstone
and ticking birds,

small movements
between gravestones
and curled brass

a dark box
of stone waiting
for the edge of light

I suppose I'm supposed to be more
Than a tired husk of soul.

I suppose I'm supposed to say more
To fill this empty hole.

But how do you write a silent letter?

How do you sing a tuneless tune?

The sky cracks open like a skull and
White hot lightning pops out like teeth

She's a dragon, and she's breathing fire and
Her smoke of clouds is stained by a teary wreath.

And I suppose she's supposed to be more
Than a moment's will-o'-wisp

And I suppose she's supposed to say more
Than cries, clean and crisp.

But how do you write a silent letter?

How do you sing a tuneless tune?

The worms aren't here to feed the birds,
They just don't want to drown.

And here, they crow, they've made their choice
Between a bullet and a tarnished crown

And I suppose they're supposed to be more
Than Christ's last meaningful meal,

And I suppose they're supposed to say more
Than a final prayer to heal.

But how do you write a silent letter?

How do you sing a tuneless tune?

How do you write a silent letter

When there's nothing left to croon?

I search in the most unknown places
I wait for the air to take me away with its flow
I watch empty roads imagining a solace
I don't have one in my heart
I don't have one in my mind
Love is what it could be found on every doorstep ..
The quaint we are treasuring since time immemorial
It's obscure ...cryptic..
To explain the want of care I crave for
Not attention,not love,but support
I crave to be understood
The qualm is that no one can
It's not a state of mind that I am going through
It's a state of reality I thrive everyday
I've had enough of watching that empty road
I want my head to stop turning
Expecting every passer to be mine
The one and only...

Eva comes home from work to where there are many flies
and slaps my brother side-headed because he left the back
door open,  she is bovine heavy and limps to close it.  We eat

Chef Boyardee Spaghetti and it is soothing like peanut butter
fudge or Pepsi-Cola.  Eva says do the dishes up boys,  goes
to bed and cries.  Me and brother go to sleep and I dream

of a burning house.

Tonight the fog settles
on the water reflecting

a dark mood, and the moon
is genuflecting to the blues

resting one knee on the cold
silent sea taking off his hat

as if to say *May I rise now
and take my leave and leave

you be, for tomorrow will
surely be a brighter day?