a winter warmth, summer breeze
house by the outskirts, near big trees
not an outsider, always been here
welcome home, my dear.

maybe fire is a synonym
of compassion, and we
interpreted it differently.

and so when i tell you
that my heart burns passionately,
it isn't to say that you'll
get burned—

it is to let you know that, sometimes,
pain is a precursor to happiness,
and that nothing comes
without a cost.

I dreamt of our house, which doesn't exist...
I'll light a candle in it and greet the dawn.
I'll feel sad by candlelight. I'll be missed.
I want you'll be near me in our house for long!

I'll walk into the garden, which doesn't exist...
I'll pick white camomiles and make a bunch.
I'll put it on the table. It'll be my feast.
Just fly into my dream! I please you much!

We'll stroll in a forest, which doesn't exist...
I'll mass there an armfull of autumn leaves.
I'll throw them into the sky. They'll be a mist.
And they'll be falling slowly under the breeze.

I dreamt of our house.  And maybe is it?
It's somewhere over the hill, green all.
The garden is so very overgrown. I'll revive it.
I'll light the candle for you to come for all.

A house always gets

all kinds of defects, well, we --


just live around them.

pustules still
on my jawline at
thirty years old

my yawns wretch
my proverbial ***
outta that there

but not before

a cashier girl
has some clue
I'm a loser

an old house &
it's foundation
slow-bombs itself

I'm caught between
me & my version
of you

Robin, butterfly, chaffinch calls
wisteria climbs on ancient walls,
magnolia, daffodil, snowdrop scramble
carrion crows parade and amble,
in the garden near the maze
early spring brings warmer days

We can never be normal again,
We can never be the same again.
Is that how things were always meant
To be in the end?

I see you in the bathroom mirror
Looking back at me with the same face
Every time I go back
To that place.

Was it ever, really, truly home?
Or the only landmark you know?
Will I ever go back to that room
And talk to you?

Did we actually mean it as a joke?
Or was that the only way we could cope?
Will   I   ever   go   back   to   that   room
                                                            ­       And     talk
                                                            ­                         to     you?

I look at us,
this broken mess we've become,
and all I feel is anger—
anger that we were supposed to be a unit,
a team,
a family—
but we are nothing but pieces of something that doesn't exist anymore.
You failed me.
Each one of you.
I'm lost in the rubble of what we were,
in the emptiness you left behind
when you choose your own needs
over what we were supposed to share.
I try to remember the good days,
but I can't.
Every happy memory feels like a lie now,
a story I told myself to keep the pain at bay.
I envy the people who have real families,
who don't know the taste of hollow promises,
who never feel the ache of knowing
that the ones who are supposed to love you
are the ones who destroy you the most.
And you—
you with your empty words and broken actions—
you don't even see it,
do you?
How much you hurt me
by pretending that everything was okay
when it wasn't.
You still don't get it.
You still don't care.
And the anger builds up,
like fire in my chest,
raging against the truth I've had to swallow:
We will never be whole again.
You broke us.
And I hate you for it.

there is a house atop a hill
that houses the lonely and hurting
the ones that have burned their edges
they sit within their ship
incessantly sinking
and panic has already set in
so they grab at one another
pull at their hair and skin
because they fear time
they fear time will fail them
****** them from where they stand
end what is incomplete
what they must complete
but what they cannot
because time has interfered
and time is not the adventure they seek
because there is a house
that is haunting
it stands tall, unafraid
but alone
a house that is time itself
one where they gather
only to hurt
and inflict wounds
so deep
no one ever bleeds
because there will never be time
never enough time
to say anything
but what they mean
a kind of time
that they stretch
so they exist at every point
at every end
but they never witness
the whole
because they refuse to believe
that time is only a dream