waiting here,
baiting my breath
the sweet taste of wine
loosens my lips
waiting for what'
waiting here
sating my mood
with any food
to taste
and lay
waste to the
staleness
I have become.

Moments
prized and
realized gain
arrived pain
now fully felt,
through skin, like
fabric padded,
fatted not draped
like a discarded
memory or
muscle miscue
as I miss the
mark once and
again.

dullshooter, not sharp
propelled blindly
out my door, into
the day
light mood darkened;
not by shadow,
not by sightless,
not by faith,
for what little
I have I must
share.

Of all these things
buried in me,
my own grave.
Riches?
The pit is full.