i will spend the week
in hourglass torture.
listening to seconds
go bye.
i cant save them
they live as quickly
as they die.

there is no tragedy
in seconds.
no funeral procession
for time lost.
just memories and
blank space.
the bitter blade
of nostalgia just
sharp enough to
pierce weak skin.

there is no excuse
for lost time.
just a .44 pointed
straight at a mirror.
one victim.
one criminal.
i am as guilty
as i am innocent.
so i am really nothing.

just a quarter
in a crisis.

the king of
neglect.

i should feel blessed
to have things to miss.

i only feel lucky,
and rather empty

to have something
to miss
is to have something
to lose.

i am stubborn.
i am a sore loser.

i will circle dates
like a child to chirstmas
for Orion,
and for May.

so until we feel
the sun and its heat.
i bid you adieu
and my love from afar.