I fall in love
with people that fall
out of reach
my hands grasping
fighting to hold
that which can't be held
fleeting brushes of hope
that, over the years, hold
my heart down
and dry up my tears
to make those around me
nothing but ghosts
I'm caught up in
loving
I'm caught up in
loving

ashes from spliffs,
smoked at night to
make me water spilling
off a cliff,
waft in the breeze
that is me.
crumpled papers crunch
underneath bare feet,
deceased trees smothered
in new meanings.
empty six packs stack,
cardboard towers guarding
against attack,
old bags, newspaper ads,
a half-full coffee cup
stands tall by the entry,
waiting for commands,
sacrificed to dispel sleep,
towels lay thrown in corners
with acted malice
an attempt to practice
being callus.
this in no apartment
it is a
trash palace.

my scars ache
thin, raised lines
on my right thigh
run like railroad tracks
crossing maps

a little crease
on the third digit
of my index finger
speaks with more conviction
than some people

the one growing out
from the corner
of my left eye
a permanent squint mark
like a part of me is
always laughing

the fresh burn on my
shoulder, feeling bolder
the word "older" seeping
under my skin

my scars ache
thin raised lines
run like railroad tracks
crossing maps

do they come back?
      do they ever
                   come
                         back?