I am a loser of nights
In cold cans of beer.
A red-eyed giant,
Slipping down the rabbit hole.
The light too bright,
The night for my own.
The music in spite,
Words never enough.
I am the loud graveyard
Of unsilenced dead songs.
A wasted scrap-book
Of failed adventures
A collection of ghosts
An empty cup of tea
With a broken handle.
I am the house you never finished building.
With leftover nails
And planks hanging loose.
I am a child playing with scissors.
In that house you never finished building.