What a quaint turn of phrase
To describe my malaise
tis an accurate way to frame it.

To excrete or not see
Not a fun way to be
And no one upon which to blame it.

Is life often this way?
Nothing good either way?
Just a sad choice of what’s bad or worse?

Is this all we’ve got?
The noose or a shot?
And is this life naught but a curse?

I’d like to believe
We weren’t meant to just grieve
That a future with joy lies ahead?

Not just **** and blindness
But some hope and kindness
Something nice before I notice I’m dead!

Perhaps my reward
Is meant to be scored
Just after my untimely demise?

In which case I must say
I’ll begin right away
My quite excellent will to revise.

Separation-

Exclamation.

Exasperation-

and then silence-

for all the years
when you were speaking to me
have found the words

silent-

and as the feet
slide side by side,

the heartbeat
is deafly quiet-



a treasure is lost

a foundation is cracked

the stone i leaned upon has swayed-


my only wish,
if i could have it,
would be that you could’ve stayed-


that maybe grace and understanding could keep you
instead of sending you away.

how can i move?

there’s a girl in a room that i thought was mine, until i came in and saw her laying in my bed, in the same position, the same spot, i planned to lay in.

she’d have a blanket over her head, with the ends tucked under the back of her head and the back of her heels so she could lay face up without the sunrise intruding the darkness she yearned for.

i’d stare; in thirty seconds the posters on my walls would no longer exist, as if a camera had to a different shot in a film. i’d stare, and in thirty more seconds there’d be no more carpet. another thirty, and there would just be space, and loss of identity.

thirty more, and the girl had no blanket to shield her. her eyes were open, vacant: occupied.

i was starving.

her head lolled to the side, in my direction, but i would never be what occupied her eyes.

was it love? delusion? i could only read her to a certain extent. i was starving.

                                          ...


i just wanna feel like you wanna hear me.

She asked me once why no one loved her
She told me to describe what I found beautiful about her

How could I put into words the extent to which I loved her
So instead I kept my mouth shut

The expression on her face was one of disappointment, deflated even

If I could go back now and start over I would tell her that she is the ocean, uncontrolled and unpredictable

I would say that when she bit her bottom lip jackrabbits would start a frenzied dance inside my stomach

I would tell her that I loved the crows-feet by her eyes that crinkled with joy when I told corny jokes

But I can't go back so I sit in this dark room that I call my mind
thinking of all the times where I could've said I love you and I didn't