I have to find home
to get back to the grindstone
but the lined clones
are where my mind goes
until wasted time shows
that I'm dying slow
in the blinding snow
of finding glows
whose fleeting blinks
give me clouds of pink
that start to sink
and then disappear
leaving me here
wondering what I did wrong
smoking a ****
and singing songs
to get along
with myself for my health
otherwise I give myself the belt
when there's gold I can smelt
sitting in a laptop or a notebook
I need to hit the blacktop and go cook
instead of waiting by the phone hook
I just hate the way being alone looks
but every time I try I get my dome shook
grinding my soft heart into stone
so I need to get back to where that heart is
before I'm grinded down to bone
on grindstone marches.

My heart didn't break
When you texted me "we're through."
It broke too, too terribly long ago.

You'd push away and longingly stare
At those with a nobody
pretending to be someone.

You closed off your life
And blamed me for respecting you
For giving you space.

But now, your grindstone letters
Which have crushed me for so long
Merely ground the flour
That Will, one day, bake a beautiful cake.

I wait for the day,
That may never come,
When I can say

Stronger now
Better now
Repaired now
Myself now.

But like the dust in the mill,
You've stained the flour, tainted the cake.
You got what you wanted, but still you take,
With the impunity of the grindstone, crushing the flour.

And that is why the flour never wears on the grindstone.

Hitting the grindstone once again
Aching regretting pounding ringing

Words pages lines and letters
Chewing mashing crunching swallowing

I left you lonely in your bed
Sleeping easing dreaming wheezing

To come home to you later
Driving bussing going speeding

And make love to you
Writhing releasing hearts beating

Only to fall asleep
Slowly softly warmly with me

And rise again to repeat the cycle