dearly beloved i've gathered you here today
to remind you of the smell of your father
the warm feeling you got when he held your hands
love feels that way
like home

darlings i search for a man like my father
the same age
who felt the same way looking down on me with love
the same smell, the same warmth when he holds my hands
i search for a man who feels like home

All i want is a man on prom night who
will give me enough love to write his name on my *******
a man who will give me enough dignity to drink schnapps and not feel ashamed

The trees give me shelter
When the rain comes on down! The trees give me comfort when noone is around.

The trees have a silence, holding in the earthing secrets. Tree's are not violent, they keep still, quiet, perfect.

The trees make love to the clouds, as baby raindrops they create, but the trees are dying like you and me, their feeling the worst of the universes fate.

The days blur perilously close
to each other now.
The alcohol does not help;
helps other things.
Blunt force trauma has
swelled and colored
the gulf of skin beneath my eye,
hindering sight.
Disgust awaits the mirror;
a child shading in the
contusions of my face
with the wrong colors;
purples, sickly yellow.
Knowing how it should,
but doesn’t, look.

Faces of friends seem
to slip further away,
this memory failing
as cells burn and pop
atop the frying pan of chemicals
that I have become.
The drugs do not help;
help other things.
A tile floor, a dimming light.

Naked, she is a stranger,
and I am overflown
with nausea, apathy;
some thick welling of revulsion
pitted in the gut that I pray
is only toward her
This hatred does not help;
only any good for the writing,
ironic, unsure if there will
be a writer much longer,
anyway.