I lay awake
And listen to the storm of my life
The trees of the past are scraping against the house
And the wild wind feels painful
Tortured
Hurt
It's rained for thirty days

My writing mothers me the way nothing can
or ever has or ever will
Unless it's myself

I talk to the shadow of the lamp in my room
The shadow of the lamp lit
only by a little moonlight
The moonlight is small like me

My
grief
is
bewildering

I'm left with nothing but rain
and
snails to look out for on the front steps.

1.
Once, back
in the good old days,
all we had were

words. We were full
of them. Yours, mine, theirs.
The words were good to us;

we respected them,
heard them, breathed
them. Lived them.

Then they were gone.

2.
The other day I
foolishly tried
to bring the good words
back,

except none of mine rose up
to meet yours, and none
of yours but one broke

the silence. The brave,
one word - repetitively spoken and
asked by us both; "good?" "good."
"Good?" "good."

3.
Was it the cold that
froze our words, leaving
us with the first syllable of
The Last Word?

4.
Goodbye.

music makes no sound
food has no flavor
the sky either shines or rains
all the time remains taken
without you I have nothing

And I see our friendship
Go down the drain

The past three years
All swept away in one go

And I felt regret
That I left you this way

But I felt freedom
Freedom from the cage you put yourself into

And you may twitter away
How I had betrayed you

But you left me first
And I never spoke
Until today

I'm ready to part with this piece of you I've hold onto so tight

Imprints on my hand that have comforted and held me for years

Deep etchings carved over time, where once sat care, now filled with scars

You were carved so deep, I thought you'd remain

I loved you as much as I could

As much as I could carry and was capable of

As much as my cold hands could keep the warmth between them

I thought I knew you when we cried between the sheets

Two lonely halves, somehow forming a whole

A love, I had not felt before

I thought I knew you

You and I, I and you

We came together, I thought I knew...

You used to feel like home

Like a soft bed, I could sink into, without remorse

But now, I know, there's no other way

I cannot cling nor stay,

For two lonely parts, never make a whole

And two lonely parts, fail to make a home

You and I, I and you

Forever, we remain, separate, just as we met

Strangers, torn into two

Still lonely, and lost, unknowing, and new.

The compromised daylight still pours into the white Chevy where a rifle sits passenger- there will still be whisky on his lips when he walks into work.

Her body braces like she has rigor mortis to the sound of her morning alarm after a night of writhing to the bittersweet taste of ******* drips.

He seeks solace between arms and hips and lips and skin, which never satiates his ache for only her.



Time is a parasitic hangover, leaching from our highs and the small passing moment of brightness we seek all our lives.

Even if you cancel all your credit cards, make love to beautiful strangers, sleep in the streets, find yourself in Europe, lose yourself in your career, curse your parents for your own faults, write poetry to lovers you never had, seize every day every second every moment, join a cult in the backwoods of Northern California, donate your retirement to your church, torment your veins until they collapse into craters, visit your grandma religiously every Sunday, smoke ****** off of tinfoil, sleep eight hours a day and always take the stairs, drink Black Velvet you've hidden in the basement, bribe God to love you on Sundays and threaten him on Mondays. Even when we wait, even when we consent to waste away Time's a slow-creeping hangover already crawling up your spine and seeping into your brain. You won't have time to ask her why all she does is take. It's already too late.