Tears down my face
that scream "I miss you,"
scratching the sheets
on your side of the bed,
reaching
reaching
reaching to hold on
but i'm kept awake
coughing up emptiness
tossing and turning
tossing and turning
forcing some sort of
hyperventilation
in an attempt to breathe.

As my heart beats slow back
to what I assume is normal
I catch my breath and repeat
"Inhale, exhale
Inhale, exhale
everything is okay."
And if it's not right now,
it will be.
The tears now whisper
a quiet and deep "I miss you"
as they trace down
the crevice of my lips
where I can only hope
that your mouth will meet me
when we're ready
back on your side of the bed.

We are all pieces of paper,
Riding the morning breeze.

We ride elegantly,
Without much strife,
Until it halts.

Until we are stranded
Upon the sidewalk
Scraped for the
Flakes of white.

Until someone takes hold
Of our flesh.
Etches their name
Without being told.
Before boldly erasing,
While avidly cursing,
Our blue lines.

At times winter visits early,
Spitting fragments of yesterday’s snow,
To strike an already scarred face.

Yet, at other times the curve of its finger
Interlocks with the conscience’s
As it blabbers on like an infant.

The world is a painting.
We are merely blots of ink.

He buried the arm.
Black dirt, cracked under a blazing sun.
His bones slid stiffly into one another; shovel slipped from sweat.
He’d covered the face already. A pale mask of serenity with burnt black sockets.
Dead leaves blew past his legs. The house shook. Boards rattled against the wind.
A paperboy passed by.
What a stupid waste of flesh.
He waved.
******** stupid.

What is it that we are doing?
The TV murmurs in the background.
Breaths are shallow.
Nothing makes sense anymore.

As I rest this head of mine
I pray that my arms become
Olive branches.
I pray that when extended
they are taken.
And that this world ceases strife.

She isn't my sister,
the girl from Ohio.
Biologically we are no kin.
But her blood smeared against asphalt
has shimmering dots
revealing that
We are family.

This is to her and others like her.
The ones from before
and the ones after.

My sister will never hear these words
But as long as its known

I love her.
Even if the world wasn't ready for her.

Characters: Speaker, Real Estate Agent

Setting: A house for sale

The real estate agent has shown the kitchen and now enters the main bedroom and begins to explain the latest modifications. The speaker is not at the moment aware of the agent’s speech. Instead the speaker’s attention is caught by the closet which is opened.

Speaker: (Interrupting the agent)
You know, save for the musky odor
And dust collecting on the top shelf,
The closet, back in my mom’s house
The one in what was my room,
Is bare.
I always strained to keep the door shut
With all of my belongings pressing ‘gainst it.
Its bare now.
No trace of what once resided in there.
Just bare.

Real Estate Agent: Well, this closet is the biggest in the house so there is no need to worry about an overabundance of belongings.

Speaker: (Smiles)
It might be hard to believe
But I longer need
A closet.

Mama , the weather outside speaks hunger.
The air whispers in syllabic groans
as it holds my bloated stomach.
I've seen the sun with cheeks full of food
but it wastes the food  by ejecting globs at my face
whenever I gaze upon it.
Perhaps the air can carry me through this winter.
Perhaps I can go to sleep.