I miss Sleep’s gentle touch.
Her kiss against my ever greedy cheek; becoming swamped
in the tide of cover and quilt,
entangling myself in her dreams.


I long for her as each days drag on,
but forget her as I lie
in sweetest, softest sheets,
surrounded by the blackness of my mind.


She has a bitter streak, Sleep, that is.
For she drags me down to icy black depths as I let my anchor loose.
She holds me in writhing hands that
poke, and ****, and bruise.


When my self resurfaces - at the beep of new day.
My soul gasps for air
in the screaming, sweating freedom,
when I break from her night-time snare.

you
ask to
see me

but my hips
are a little too
ragged right
now

to have
your hands
grabbing
at them

EVERYWHERE I LOOK, I SEE GHOSTS.

At every tortured bend and darkened hallway, I see you;

And me. And the smiles up against the walls and the laughter jumping through your hair.

I see my insides tied tightly to the spots where we mumbled and fumbled and

took

our

time.

I see shadows of guilt stretched across our history and - like some queer carnival attraction - my Hopelessness cast them.

I feel broken memories catching in my eyes like old, worn hooks.

I taste laughter and love at the back of my throat:

Tickling some hardened part of me :

Making me to and fro’.

And as much as I suffer for the crimes I took joy in,

I know you,

And you suffer for it all the more.