The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

mum's in the big bed
da's on the living room couch
i'm the hall between

Do you ever think
of a poem
that's amazing

and you're sure you'll remember
to write it down

but you won't

She was like Christmas.
A surprise.

Dear diary;
today I
did not write,
I did not paint,
and I did not compose.
I did not live today but,
then again, I guess that's
no different to any other day.