She clasped death
tightly between her fingers
with soot in her lungs
and regret in her eyes

Their bed is a battlefield:
Sheets drenched with sweat,
The smell of renewed hope,
Pulses slowing.

Wide eyes pierce the ceiling,
Bright with what might be -
The thought of something forming
Deep within.

Hope fades at the lamp click.
Blackened silence fills the room
But neither one can sleep,
Not right now.

Lost in Google late at night.
The glow of false hope forums -
Stupid acronyms and
Fake concern.

****-soaked sticks in bathroom bins;
The clang of disappointment
Ringing through the house.
This stops soon.

I may be gone for a little while,

Maybe for a little while longer

but I will always come back here,

here where my poems live,

here where my heart finds comfort

here where my soul laid to rest,


here

                  here,

where


**I MET YOU.....

It's like having phantom limbs,
All protruding from random points on your body.
Sometimes it's like having limbs where there should be nothing,
And your brain is telling you that your hand must've taken a wrong turn.
I want to touch parts of me that don't exist
Outside of the empty vacuum of dreams.
I want to drag the scalpel across my own skin
And rip out the heavy weight of the tissue that drags me down.
Most of the time it's something I fixate on multiple times throughout the day.
Sometimes the worst-case scenario takes hold,
And on those days I've got a serrated knife in my hand,
I'm trying to find a reason to put it down.
I almost always put it down, if only out of vanity.
If only for the return of sanity.
So I breathe, I try to gain more air than is possible
Because the heaviest weight tends to be lying on my chest.
I breathe enough to return to passive fixation,
Where it's like an obsession and I'm stalking my own downfall.
I just want to touch the parts of me that don't exist.
I want to feel that they exist.
I need to know that I exist.

A welcome, a welcome
that wasn't skillfully planned
I welcome you to Blunderland
Mistakes, mistakes
not in short supply
with consequences
and hopes you won't die
"Off with you head,"
the Blunder Queen said
while you run
each step becomes a mile
Hurry, hurry
you need to see Cheshire's smile
Searching for the 'pillar's winding smoke
Running around
before the white rabbit smoke
It's time, time
The escape has come to an end
You can't leave from Blunderland
You cross the ocean
filled by the drop of a tear
and I want you to know
we're all mad here.

224

I’ve nothing else—to bring, You know—
So I keep bringing These—
Just as the Night keeps fetching Stars
To our familiar eyes—

Maybe, we shouldn’t mind them—
Unless they didn’t come—
Then—maybe, it would puzzle us
To find our way Home—

Rosy red petals
the crumbling smell
so sweet
as you run
they get crushed beneath your feet
the intoxicating scent
brings you back around
to repeat the wrongs
redemption never found
The dripping of dew
falls upon the dirt
your soul mixed with desire
a rush that's bound to hurt
Dreams swirl down the river
while you run towards the ledge
collect a little sliver
before you meet the edge.

Last night I told you that
maybe someday I'd like to
marry you if that was
ok with you

and then I said sorry
you told me not to apologize,
that the feeling was mutual

Since that moment my feet
have been at least an inch
off the ground,
maybe a foot

You described yourself as
Beaming

I could imagine light shining
from you, gleaming
glowing like through
the ceiling of a
greenhouse

Maybe one full of ferns
and black eyed susan's
for the colors
In your eyes

I think
Maybe
If it's ok with you
we could get married there

We could stand between the
rows of flowers and ferns
and the he light would
fall over us like a blanket
and everything would
smell fresh,
and new
and you would be
beaming

We checked the forecast
and readied ourselves,
Battened down the hatches
and stoked the fire,
Begged the foundations
to hold these walls.

Ribbons of rain licked the roof.
Iron clouds swallowed the sky.
The Storm, like a bailiff,
hammered the door.
For hours He hammered
and hammered again.
Like an unwanted salesman
selling us fear,
He stayed at our door
and hammered some more.

There was no use fighting;
He was stronger than us.
So with gritted teeth
and tear-soaked eyes,
we prayed for morning to come.

And it did.