Slumped on an old pink couch, television
test pattern flickering off their biscotti
painted walls,  Pall Mall smoldering
on the rug beneath Jack’s fingers,
Lorene mostly dead, Jack might
as well be;  early a.m., dark.

She is soap smooth from Achilles
to scalp’s apex

for years contemplated
suicide

instead, she learned
the right nutrients

creates life that bursts
above all

else.

I try to hard for happiness in others, and in me.
I try to hard to rid the pain in others, and in me.

I try to hard to make others laugh at me.
I try to hard to make others look at me.

I try to hard to make others like me.
I try to hard to portray an image that's not me.

I try to hard to disconnect the me,
I became.
I try to hard to find the me,
I once was.

I try to hard for happiness in me, and in others.
I try to hard to rid the pain in me, and in others.

*I guess I'm not trying hard enough

Place my tongue in your residence
and taste your ripe decadence
Saviour the flavor of our relevance
And keep the memory for evidence

we are all apart of this quiet still life toy shop
and it's like a page closed tight inside a children's book
tucked behind dust between a dictionary and a picture book
of stars & galaxies

we only animate when you come up to us and start living us
we only mean anything when we haven't finished
and we know every song ever written but we are still rehearsing
for the Big Day
(unless it is the Big Day, then we are performing what we have practiced.)

i mean like
what the hell is this?