The doves are all dying
No peace left to own.
In the wars guns are firing
No sweetness or song

So call to your gods
They all turn away
Death falls from the blue sky
Kills children at play

So weep in the night
Hide your tears in the rain
There's a hole in the heavens
To let out the pain

Let the bells toll forever
As the wars cease to still
Children drown in the oceans
In an absent gods will.

drunken night with a stranger,
oddly tender.
soft touches
cupping my face
kissing me
for hours
entangled in a bed
with other drunk ghosts.

it's astonishing
how swiftly
this disease moves.

it's gotten to be
this familiar pattern,
an ugly ebb and floe-
agonizing stretches
of nothing, just numb silence
and tense conversations,
with brief reprieves
of manic glittering highs.
it builds and builds
until it bursts, and not
in any extraordinary way.
it's usually while
engaged in some menial task
like brushing my teeth
or eating a turkey sandwich,
and suddenly it's suffocating me
and my hands are shaking
and all of my words are gone.
this is the phase
of delicious self-loathing
and bone deep sadness,
where it almost feels good
just to feel something real-

until i'm spinning out,
heaving out months of nothing
in back-breaking sobs
in the middle of the week
on my lunch break
and they're all asking
what's wrong
with their faces
******* up into
genuine concern
and, ****,
they've almost
found me out.

i regroup,
smile like i mean it
and say i'm getting help;
let emptiness consume
as i dive into the grey.