my spine is cracking more
these days
what happened to my pen
that used to litter my journals
with chicken scratches
that were more raw
than this clarity will ever be
why did I turn her off
and shut her away
where she now erupts
my mother says I've gotten smaller
and look for once like a child
I feel, for once, like a child
Everything I'm feeling,
I've felt once before
that horrifies me
comfort in dreaming
reliance in hope
I am building myself to fall
but I'm pretending not to know
feigning ignorance
to comfort my lack of motivation
to console the last shot
I'm young enough to do it all over
old enough for it to mean nothing

With the sting of thorns,
nestled in ***** feet,
There is a pull of the world toward the
abandoned.
It draws me here, to the space between
tides; to graffiti, and rats.
For there is peace in what we leave behind.

There is a heaviness in my shoulders
when I pull into the complex,
a seeking sense I can’t seem to shake.
I park but don’t move;
There must be something inside a note
or lyric
that has some answer,
but it falls short,
just like every night that preceded this one.
I turn off the ignition to hear a silence
that screams too loudly.
I journey to the door,
and the passing of my feet across the threshold
is my emotional “off” switch.

For now
it is out of my hands.

I'm a sucker for your poetry.
Maybe that's because it's the only way you're still in my life.
It went downhill after I left ya.
I don't even have your number anymore,
But you know me. It's engraved in my memory. My courage isn't though. I need to look for that first.

P.S. The picture is ugly and I love it.

Writing has always been a fickle friend to me;
Sometimes the only thing standing between me and a masterpiece
Is the mood to write.

If you wanna know,
There's still a picture of you in my room.
I just always tell people it's because my best friend is on it too.
Little do they know.

》It's been three months, and I still don't know your name.