these sheets so incredibly warm
wicked, yes, i think the window is shattered
like everything else in my writing, my
pain
it is shattered
covered, tossed aside
i feel better alone
there is nothing of value in the present
i am the 5 am paranoia kicking in,
the work lying there on my desk
as time ticks past its due date
each line in the wood floor
watered by tears
there is
nothing of value
anywhere