i can taste
heartache and it tastes
like blood and shattered promises.

i want to go home
and swallow each tablet
in the bottle of pills
which are supposed to
make me not want to
do so.

i-

well,
      ****.

everyone i've written about
has left me.
so you must understand
why i will not immortalize you
with my words,
why i won't turn you
into a poem.

maybe this way
you'll stay.

curiosity doesn't **** the cat
not in my case.
curiosity itself kills me
looking into the box
and seeing a cat
that ; is what helps me survive
whether its dead or alive

I don't think about it any more
I take out the trash
noting
Sticks caught in the crotch of a tree
The wind does what the wind does
breaks weaker branches down
does not care where
it leaves
them
on its invisible way

Days do what the days do
they don't count themselves
worthy as they go
to release
the afternoon
to evening—
an artless
emptying
to a low spot
where tears tend to pool
if I'd let them down

“You know,
in that low spot
out there...?”
Where it's hard to see
Where its hard to care?

They take heart
out
divide it by energy
for sadness—
I haven't got

Watched the clock go round
wipe out my little plans
with relentless hands

...and I never got dressed today