Howling; chilling the frigid air even more so than the skeletal figurines (they used to be trees) that rim the desolate street. And the moon- she waxes & wanes, refusing to stay in the same stage (stay sane?). For she never sees her lover, Mr. Sun- he always runs away from the darkness, though it is at night when she rules her fun. So she tip-toes, slowly emerges, to peek carefully across the night sky and hopes that perhaps at one moment in time, she'll gaze into his blinding white light.*

....but this bed still doesn't feel my own

                     desolate
                                    & cold


      I still lie  


                                                



                                                             ­           alone







For your heart
    Is the only place
        I could ever truly call home.