This residence is haunted
By no one but myself.
My room; a silent kingdom;
Yet is prison, and is hell.
Still-life inside a chrysalis;
My own skin forms a crypt.
The struggle to break free
Entombs me further yet.
It’s not that I am scared
Of the worlds’ one thousand things -
I’m scared that I will free myself
To find I have no wings.

The rotting flower blooms anew,
Though withering and greyed,
Bewildering the twilight gloom
Where higher forms decayed.
The silent kingdom rises from
The earth where life has left
To bear a fruit by virtue of
The renaissance in death.

I felt happy
for the first time
in a long time
I was at best buddies
frosting cookies
talking
then suddenly
I realized I felt happy
happy is a language between strangers
happy is singing songs
out of tune and not caring
happy is knowing
that you’re loved
happy is the unexpected
you cannot set a trap for it

Some days your heart feels
the distance a little harder.

Ice cold rain dripping down
the bathroom floor, the chairs
on the balcony empty and
grey grey clouds over the ocean
impede her going out sides always
November means gray rain
and unrest, a coldness as a
distance from him, them,
the palm trees at least not waving
breaking the sky, into disarray her
thoughts will travel disquietly
unappreciated and loved
in the dark in an empty room
in the light surrounded by
happy goodbyes. Fall.