Others slept.
We sat with a bottle
At the kitchen table

The way men do
Who deserve to
Talk.

Outside, the embers of
The dying bonfire
Flung sparks

Into the dark, and as
Men that need to cry
So very often

Don't, the night, the woods
And the cabin kitchen
Formed a tear

Just our size. In which
We sat. And sometimes
Spoke a

Little.

Who am i
I am drowning
skin deep
Within my cavity.
I can feel me
heart is still beating
These eyes aren't mine.
Or at least
someone else inhabits them.
Every beat
screams
*Suffocate.

in the mornings
your lips taste bittersweet
lubricating my lips with premeditated longing
and cool passionate sorrows

There is no such thing as old school romances;
Just delicate photos,
And
Dried up roses.

I am dyslexic,
And I can spell:
D-e-p-r-e-s-s-i-o-n.
Font wards and backwards.
I can invent new ways,
How it looks,
sounds.
I am dyslexic
And I stumble over the word:
L-I-F-E.
This lyfe's
Syllables I have yet to conquer
Or the ability to make it possible.

Life

                               Lyef

           Liph

                                
                                           Lief

Stapled on a string
I fly so high.
      
           *

Keeps me waiting for
the life,
When i wake up myself
from this surreal reality.

        *

Its just a dream.
Its all just a dream.