Where do I go when
two roads diverging ahead
become one, and the west coast flames
disguise insecurity and reality?

I cannot begin
to explain
how black these
night skies tremble,
as if somehow
I sleep the sun away
because I cannot bring myself
to trust the light.

I am so withered.
bring me back to life
with rose petals and broken vases;

I am accustomed
to tending broken gardens
as I am a butler
to the trivial rituals
that is the current cascade
of exile and hate -

please
please
please
help me find
home
home
my heart.

I mistake it for gravestones -
whats a heart worth if left all alone?
Leave it long enough, and watch it turn to stone.

Why must we always be untrue?