I can watch the leaf get torn from its home on high by a callous wind. It’ll fall down into the waiting current of a river.

Then I can imagine myself on that leaf. Rudderless and subject to the whims of the water. Floating gently down the middle of the river. Savoring those moments in the sun and catching my breath in the shade of the trees.

I’d dream of a destination. Where I’d finally find that peace I’d heard her talk about. And these tattered rags of my trials could fall away from me.

Alas though. I followed the leaf. It ended up on the muddy embankment. Because it’s just a leaf. It’s journey wasn’t grand. It lived and will die with no notice.

It seems. Most times. No matter how much I’d like something to be more than what it is. It turns out to be just another dead leaf.



In my mind, I can **** you. I could love you. And still **** you. I’ve let you in for now. Out from the rain. Beside the firelight.
And we’ll talk. For minutes, hours, days, or years.
I’ll get to know the person you want me to know. And in turn I’ll do the same for you. Like a table and a chair. We won’t need each other.
Though it’ll be nice just to have the other there.
And yet. When all is said. I’ll know how you like your tea. You’ll know how to make me laugh. And then.
Then there will inevitably come a day. When I’ll ask if you’d like more tea. You’ll say “yes”. So I’ll get up and walk around behind you to put the kettle on.
And just before you say something foolish like “I love you”. I’ll cut your throat and drag your carcass out of the cabin into the cold.
I’ll go back inside my cabin and shut the door without looking at you. Then I’ll wash the tea cup you were using and put it up in the cubbard.
Not because I don’t love you. On the contrary. I love you more than the wolf loves the moon.
It was because you loved me.



There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. She’d **** like a *****. Not one man but two. One day she happened. To see what they saw. And right there and then. She caught sight of her flaw. It wasn’t that she was a bad person you see. She was just dead and not meant to be.



These thoughts are my own, not yours to gather. They’re not to be trusted, or tossed if you rather.

Don’t take them to heart because that’s not where their from. In fact I don’t know from whence these thoughts should come.

Just as your thoughts get passed from your ***. They’ll disperse to the heavens like so much gas.

It just doesn’t matter what we think of each other. Whether you be a wife, son, or brother.

Instead I will urge you, to rely just on yourself. Be who you want, and put who you are on the shelf.



I used to have this friend. She’d find me when I was alone with myself. And whisper to me from the shadows.
Sometimes she was kind. She’d tell me everything was ok. She knew that I knew that it wasn’t. Though she knew I liked to think it so.
Other times. She was cruel. She’d say my name once. Just to make me think someone was there for me. Because she knew that that was all I ever wanted.
I’d swear sometimes I could hear laughter fading.
She was both my bane and my balm. My friend in the darkness.
Then there was that night. I stared long into the shadows in the corner of my room. Hoping to hear her voice. But all I heard was the wind outside.
I asked myself where she’d gone. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. How could I ever tell myself she was never actually there?

She loved the beach.
The sun kissing every inch of her body.
The soft white sand powder coating her skin.
The contrast of the darkening water to the never ending sky.
And while the beach would always be there for her.
She knew she couldn't stay.
It wasn't who she was.
So she'd swim.
Pulling and straining against the incoming tide.
Giving it everything she had in her.
Until she had nothing left.
Exhausted , she stopped and turned back to face the shoreline.
Alone save for two options.
Sink or swim.

I’ve written over a thousand pieces
And I can’t remember one
It’s like smoking
I get the urge to light one up and write one out
Then I flick it off to the side
And when it falls, I know not where
Just words littered behind me
My waypoints
Sometimes
I like to imagine that one day
Someone finds them, reads them, and maybe they mean something
To someone
For once
If not
Well not every day is meant to be remembered

My cat and I. Her name is Hazel.
We're just sitting here you see.
Myself, staring into the chaotic mess that is subjectivity.
Her? Well I myself am not foolish enough to think I could fathom what she's thinking.
However,
we sit in agreement on one subject.
We don't like you.

I wrote a poem about a girl
In fact I wrote a few
Truth be told I will admit
This girl I never knew

Often she’d tell me things
Things I couldn’t hear
Then she’d show me things
But they weren’t always clear

I’d like to say I knew her
Just so I could say it’s so
Honestly she’s a mystery
So I guess I’ll never know

I wrote a poem about a girl
Tis all I can really say
Maybe one day I’ll meet her
Before I’ve gone my way

I like autumn fires
Hues of amber and crimson
I like my bourbon on the rocks
So that if I hold it up to the light
It looks like the sun riding up of glaciers
I like not being reminded
Of who I am
I like that feeling you get when you run your cold hands under warm water
I like to think about it every now and then
Until it hurts
Then I stop
And I think about you
I like that most of all