shade shadows
of dark skin
head neck
chest hips

darken rolls
of stomach flesh
blow away
charcoal dust

curve calf
over seat
blend fold
of white sheets

steady hands
sketch toes
crescent nails
foreshorten soles

erase

Camouflaged Jack Frost infiltrated covers,
worming into the bed in a military crawl,
starting at my feet he slowly creeps in,
even slithering into my socks.

Slowly up my legs, he oozes,
eventually sapping all my heat,
I toss and turn and turn and toss,
but that just gives him more room.

I get up to free myself from his icy grip,
headed to the thermostat on the wall,
pressing the screen to increase the temperature,
the fan icon spins, but the real one doesn't turn.

Tripped breaker, Mother Nature wins,
I bundle up to go do battle outside,
the wind batters me as flurries fall,
I pry open the icy breaker box.

Icecicles fall, threatening my toes,
like ***** traps set for me,
a pile of snow falls off the house,
and down my collar, as winter fights.

But I win the battle this time,
I flip the tripped switch and the heat kicks on,
slipping and sliding back into the house,
the war continues outside.

small and nameless, Kronos summons
one such Titan who's born to fate,
to numbered days until fully grown,
to lashes of satin and of stone.
sailing songs into the breeze
lost in skies of hum and tease
failing to see what it all meant
among all the hollow remnants,
of broken kings and pauper wings,
of vacancy and necromancy
our "once we were" and "as we will"
come soothingly upwards into a chill
and we can fight and disagree
until our suns resign and our spirits free,
The Fall creeping, meek and shy
Or when we're ready, after the Fly

sometimes
                                                       ­                         my
                                     ­ brain
                       doesn’t
                                                       ­     work

right
                                                ­                               and

                             my

                                              thoughts

     ­                                         scatter

               ­                                                    like
                               beads

                                     spilled
                               on
                                                              ­                 tile

floor

I sit at the park,
Puffing toxic smoke ;
Inhaling the pain i weep alone.
My life, indeed is like a rolling stone.
As the sun shines,
I became blinded,
While I exhale..
Puff.
Puff.
Puff.
Where is my hope.

bruises don’t often
appear on the surface.
strip away
her face,
her skull,
to reveal the battered,
rotting
brain of a girl
warped
into believing
abuse
is a normal aspect of life,
like pouring milk
into a bowl of cereal
for breakfast.