I find that ribs aren't broken by force,
The snap comes from initial shock
Of razor sharp silence.
Churning and grinding usually occurs as time rotates past
Like the wheels of a car that you hope to god would hit you.
Eventually, you realise that your ribcage implodes due to heartache
And the hearts desire to destroy itself
Before he, or anyone else, can.
It's a funny game of Russian roulette you play with people.
That one bullet in the revolver...
That one glimpse of a "maybe";
Maybe, maybe this one will be the one to stay.
And as waves pound the shore for forgiveness
You torture yourself with the thought
Of finally letting go of solitude.
Not before the silences consume every brain pulse;
Harder to digest than constant rumbling of crowds.

I'm so homesick
But I'm home...
I'm not living, not alive
Just waiting to petrify.
Solidify and one day melt
Into your arms again.

You are my home
And you are so far away.

Oxidization
Volcanic hills are blood red
With memories
Of water
Past
Atmosphere gone
Polar shift, done
Magnetic aesthetic
Still
As pleasing

Aware enough to cheer the game on,
As they strike out,
Your son sits behind you,
Keys clicking,
To fill the void of a good foot ball throw,
Hallow hello hell,
Fatherless fathers fell.
To sleep because the drugs,
Are easier than the kids,
He made.