Everyday that dawns,
you slip away a little more.
The distant stare,
the apathetic eyes.
Your love is as dead
as the roses in
the trash.
Your heart is an
abyss that I'm
lost in forever.
Belladonna drew me in.
The poison kept me there.

Gonzo goes out
with a 45 blast.
He was kicking *** in Aspen,
we knew it wouldn't last.
The rambling, gambling
man of journalism
put Fear and Loathing on
the map,
but in the end,
he couldn't stay.
It's bat country.

I miss her, and
it's uncomfortable.
I'm not used to
feelings.
In the past, I would
drink when I
felt uncomfortable,
or felt anything, for
that matter.
Now, I identify
the feelings, like
a strange new
species of animal:
"Oh yes, that's sadness.
It's indigenous to
the western plains of
the heart."
Feeling emotions is
strange and scary,
but it beats the
alternative;
feeling nothing,
and dying alone.

but now that I've found you
and you're millions of miles away
it hurts worse

come home

Writing poems may save my place in the book
of life. But I think my life is better seen
from a distance. Close up there are issues, dents
and some old popcorn under my chair.

I will save my last lines for you
The final sentences
I will save for when we are alone

the cat is blind
the mouse is getting worried
and fat

I’m only halfway back
it’s ok, it’s a meaningful journey
and I’m feeling optimistic

I am the queen
with a hungry guillotine
come closer