Ink drying
as my well self
realizes how much
I mean this
  need this -

the weaving,
                  the bleeding;

                                     the needing
            dampening future happiness
         each step tripped backwards;

    like the sounds you hear
                               or feel
                  when there's only silence,
                             or truth
                               to settle in
                             with the mush
                                    or pile
                                       or illusion,
                                          dream
                                        of something that
                                            came too soon -

  things I don't need
  anymore;

            My tear jerking
                            Prince,
            reaching, mmm,
                      a push too far
          
          without reason
             or real love
              enough to
             set me free -

   release me
     from these dark clouds
      of your little,
           play-dream;
  
          plucked your last pedal;

   tasmanian devil
    fiddling with my grace;

    How cruel have I been
                     in your deepness?

    I want you, baby,
                 but I need you not

             to keep this steady pace;

     deeperdeeperdeeper
        in not being afraid
         to sleep in this empty house
             we built together -
                 but dare I
               pull myself out?

                                               God be with you, too.
          
                                   Cold and dry.