I watch the petals drift away.
I watch the petals drift away.
I watch the petals drift away.

I watch the petals drift away.
I watch the petals drift away.
I watch the petals drift away.

I watch the petals drift away.

No one told me cloud nine has a boarding fee.

At least the the elevators run easy.

Some red on the pavement is the quickest fix there is.

It is five in the morning.
I’m still awake because
fools have dreams and
I have reality.

There are mice in the attic.
I let them stay because
they’ll keep warm and
I’ll never be alone.

There were holes in my shoes.
I fixed them because
I’ll take faster steps and
the earth is too much to feel.

thumbs **** back black glocs
heat’s on head’s gone
pull it for the crack rock
heaving thick and heavy haze
white and green all mix with red
ticking tendrils round the numbers
seconds are fast after taking life
over grains of time suicide
untouched potential left so
in the wake of pooling blood

tick tock tick tock and time turns the tables
clocks give more gut rot than one-fifty-one
panic over life’s deadlines disables
the mind from seeing anything but guns
and chaos and filth under fate’s tight spun
web of lies keeping eyes fixed on fables
of flies that cannot overpower fate
though they try but have you really tried to
take flight mister fly or have you simply
seen your friends cry and put away your wings
acceptance is the simplest way to die

fair specters whirl through strains of mind
between comfort and sorrow they sing
lyrics better left silent in the depths

when I wake mortal planes expand
dreams drift begrudgingly from sight
fierce sunlight ruptures vexing veil

all things estate of day or night
become confounded by the heart
which seldom senses verity

Autumn leaves exposed nerves
and frost brittled bones.

Toes gasp through clay.
Fatigue threatens grip,
yet flayed arms extend.

Fingers fall from reach.
Sapwoods freeze like blood
beneath blizzard winds.

The hardest thing about closing the door is
watching the silver lining drift to the floor,
ground to dust and swept under the rug,
floors are much quicker to let bygones be.

The hardest thing about closing the door is
the screech of hinges boring through skull
like worried whispers heard before that
made the iron oxidize.

The hardest thing is clicking the lock
and seeing both keys on the table top,

then clicking your heels
but you're already home,
just seeing how empty
it is on your own.