...
..
.


never been left
how could you
write me wrong

dangling off the cleft
how could you
this has
never
been
our
song

love was
blown
like
glass candles

my heart sewn
to
an
seamstess' vandle

harping in dreams
that's all
of
me's

how could
we say
never been left
?



...
..
.

Four walls and a door propped open.
Roof comfortably overhead.
Full size bed with a squishy mattress.
Glass of water on the bedside table.

Prescription bottles gathered on the dresser.
Parental gaze from overhead.
Creeping fear from the open door.
Broken shard of glass on the floor.

Blood pooling in the carpet.
**** deep in both arms.
Well-known fear out the open door.
Broken body on the floor.

You keep
crawling back
under my skin,
within my thoughts,
and
inside my heart.

Am I just not quite my self?
Should I reach out?
Ask for help?
Well, all the others have

ALREADY BEAT ME THERE

Am I just too reclusive?
Should I reach out?
Ask for help?
Sounds ******* amazing,
honestly, but

YOU CAN'T ASK SOMEONE TO CARE

now can you?

The saying goes, if you don't feel old,
you're not old.

Me, I don't feel anything explosively,
aging fast.

The last time I remember as rapturous,
I was dumb.

Pushed up against the locker.
Never been kissed, since then
I've kissed and kissed and lips
have never been as plump.

The last time I remember excitedly,
I was dumb.

I was fifteen,
was sixteen,
then dead.

I was young, dumb,
now numb and wasted.

Just wasted.

Sipping tea with you
Under the big maple tree
Is my favourite