some moon slunk through stifled air
as, upon stone and soil, a piece of
humanity trembled on. cold starlight.

dried out, under the streetlights where
my footsteps oughta be. standing and
slaughtering my hopes, never knew
near enough                                
                         ­    i guess i'll survive

nothing lost for all small collection,
he dug nails into palm. the sound of
asphalt will make him sick, in time. not
that he isn't already. just doesn't know it.
just doesn't know who he is, if anything.

my excuses bear down, sharp
teeth in the kitchen, asleep, aside
drunk& disfigured i, contorting amidst
these dreams. waking up bleeding.

waking in the morning, sunlight
screaming through, ocean roar silent;
to stand up and start moving, without
making a sound, through the same
ideals. the same patterns.

*i am held at the throat, at the fingertips
of this rend, of my own heart.