Winter had arrived
overnight, and

we had slept soundly through it, the
snow smothering

any sounds that dared
try to escape.

The morning arrived clear and sunny
and cold.

I was washing the dishes in that
old kitchen sink of ours when I noticed them—

footprints through the snow in our backyard—I couldn’t
say how many sets there were—

starting at the back fence and
proceeding directly

to our kitchen window. You
told me that you were going to head outside

to shovel the walk, but I told you
that I would take care of it, and I put on

my boots but no jacket, and I walked
out the back door, shovel held tightly

in hand. The tracks traced
the full perimeter of our house—

they appeared to be searching
for something—and they stopped

right outside of her
bedroom window—I couldn’t say

how many sets there were, or how long
they’d stood there while she slept.

I don’t know what
compelled me, but I turned the shovel

over, hurriedly using its edge to scrape
away the footprints there beneath the

window, the grass beneath them still
green and struggling to breathe.

And when I came back inside
you asked me

what I was up to out there, and I told you
that it was too cold

to shovel, that we should put on
another *** of coffee,

that we should stay inside
and not face the day,

and let the children
keep sleeping.

Roses are red
Violet are blue
The more you think of it
The more it haunts you

When I fired my gun at a criminal, I accidentally shot an innocent bystander.
I made a horrible mistake, I was supposed to shoot someone else than her.
The person who I accidentally shot was only eighteen years old and I killed her.
The guilt I feel is too much to bear and I resigned, I'm no longer a police officer.
When I shot and killed that girl, it was a horrible accident, I did not mean to do it.
Even though the police academy trained me not to make such a mistake, I blew it.
I shed tears every single day because I feel remorse.
My wife can't take it anymore, she's getting a divorce.
My wife constantly told me to get over it but she was beating a dead horse.
I ruined my life, I've lost my wife and I had to resign from the police force.
When I accidentally shot and killed that girl, it was a tragic thing to do.
If you're a cop, I pray that what happened to me doesn't happen to you.

Prowling,
like a wolf
on the periphery of the unknown
betwixt knowledge and dread
I saw the dark truth
I felt the gulf
the waste
the expanse
the difference in power
the taste of defeat
the vice grip of the inevitable
the long, slow bleed of my dignity
flowing out
with the gold of my entrails
eviscerated by my pride
how I dared to topple the monolithic,
undeniable truth
that there is always
a better you
a better me
a better us, out there
stronger
bigger
faster
smarter
more hung
more fashionable
more handsome, more beautiful, more androgynous
more capable
more accomplished
more patient
more... loving
more empathetic
they know more random facts
they've been more places
they've known more people
they've seen more sunrises
they've counted every moon
their worst is better than your best day
he cares for her more deeply than you did
she loves that
she's forgotten you
he tells her what he never told you
and she loves him for that
you were always afraid to find out
they never invite you because you're not fun
what a downer
what a bore
there's always that one person
upon whom your envy is never sated
they lope in moonlight
flowing locks of grace
teeth bared in a frightful grin
they know all your cards
they can play you like a fiddle
they're out there
where you fear to go
the apex predator
the person you'll never be
but dream you could
and dreams are all you'll have...

I do eat people
sometimes, they escape
they knock at the door
impatiently tapping my
the oak wood, their feet
humming a tune
that is completely,
utterly empty

I am locked up in the mad house
and for good reason too
When I let people in,
I close the door
When you step through
the doorway
I
Can't
Wait
any longer.

Once upon a scary night, within the dark streets of London,
Five women all met their demise by a shadowy demon.

One hundred and thirty three years and eleven months later,
No one to this very day knows the name of the vile killer.

So he'll continue to go by the name of Jack the Ripper,
Till someone brings to light the identity of the monster.

He had wandered into the jungle,  
And it was getting very late at night,  
He couldn’t find his way out again,  
And there was just nobody else in sight.  

“Oh no! I’m completely lost”, he thought
And quickly his panic started to rise,  
But he knew he had to keep quite calm,  
Or he would surely pay a deadly price.  

An hour later, having stumbled,  
Through thorns and bushes as he blindly trekked,  
He suddenly felt an eerie silence  
That made all the hair rise on his neck.  

It was then he saw the bright green light,  
Floating high in the tree tops on one side,  
Which seemed to beckon silently to him,  
While his mounting fear he tried to hide.  

The small light was shining steadily,    
and he felt a very strange calmness,  
spreading throughout his entire body  
and then he lost his fear of the darkness.  

Slowly the floating light moved on ahead,  
He followed it as if in a trance,    
And after some ten minutes had gone by  
He suddenly found a trail by chance.  

The green light kept guiding him forward,  
And the narrow path was getting smoother,  
Soon he was out and his sense of dread  
of being lost was gone altogether.  

He searched all over for the spirit glow,  
But the strange light was completely gone,
He was sound and safe and happy now,  
He felt as if a new life had been born.