as
dead

as life can be

what does it feel like to be held
not by another body
not by a set of limbs, a chest, a chin
but
by another soul

what does it feel like
to see truth in another pair of eyes
instead of hidden intentions
instead of absence

what does it feel like
to hear a familiar heartbeat
resounding next to your own
reaching through skin
through bone
two rhythms
indistinguishable

what does it feel like
to write poems about
a love that exists

Sometimes you have to admit defeat

Its a war I can't win and the longer I fight
the more injured I become.
I feel weak
I'm fighting myself
when no one said I had to.

I think in feeling too much, I forgot what it means to feel at all

Dying is not a crime
But for playing God
I'll probably do time

Pretty little euthanasia
My disconnected phone
Always going home

That open window
To the fire escape
I am the center of a lake

The kids next door
Liked to play with me
Now we don't see them anymore

faded backboard
frayed net
kissed gently by only the breeze

a rusty bell
married to cobwebs

faint chalk marks
left by two ghosts
who never quite finished their game

wooden swing set stained green
cracked, splintering
weeds abusing the low swings

a dead christmas tree
begging to be set into flames

a little charred chair
chipped paint
remnants of a couple little girls
floating off
away

one thick, steel chair
set on the outside
watching time tick
and the world grow, fade, die
and grow again