sometimes
                                                       ­                         my
                                     ­ brain
                       doesn’t
                                                       ­     work

right
                                                ­                               and

                             my

                                              thoughts

     ­                                         scatter

               ­                                                    like
                               beads

                                     spilled
                               on
                                                              ­                 tile

floor

Love looks
Like the spaces
Between his fingers
Being filled
With mine

..
and there was this tranquility that
draped over both the decaying dead and alive bodies
like a thin blanket attempting to reassure both sides
that there is more to life than this..

The way people perceive you isn't gospel
You're one of those flowers freckled alongside the highway
Always mistaken as a ****