To everyone, I’m a vampire.
Not to them, but to me.
Know what I mean?
Sustenance is consequence
and I’m convinced
You were convinced
And ever since
The sky repents.
It screams for me!
For forgiveness.
For love and hate
And all between.
You’re a vampire to me
But not to you, I mean.
Do you see?
I’m sure you see.

i’m at a service
for someone i didn’t know
but wish i had, i suppose
you never said much
but now it means more
yet i’m still an outsider
without feelings about her
as your insides knot up
and your son can’t understand
i’m a phantom at best
with an invisible hand

I wrote in circles like a vinyl ******, but still running, and bounded over what could have made the story wholly forgiving.

I am the only one
to ever hear
exactly what I said:

I cannot begin
to tell you how
this might end.

you’ll probably be
more sorry when
you’re dying
stopping wrongs
from writing
please stop trying
stop chasing dawn
still
about waking up
on lawns
quit

you’ll probably be
more sorry when
the light goes
out tonight those
doors
aren’t windows
time heals
but when though
we’ve been closed
an illuminated end grows
quick

The market was empty,
if not for my voice,
as I crooned my sermon
as an effortless remedy.

Echoes are still validation.
The crowd had no choice,
but to take in a message
of my self-flagellation.

The instrument cracked
as my voice became hoarse;
each syllable sprang
with the skin off my back.

Per chance did you hear
that my music doth ****?
If you survived its sound,
it must not have been near.

When I’m the
last of the fallen,
the absolute last
that Death ignores,
you’ll find me
crawling toward
the bright and sunny,
the endless calm,
the milk and honey.

we’re but a reservoir
against a faulty dam
a rain away
from a flooded plain.

what fruitless
destruction
lies just beneath
a surface we can’t keep.