Sitting in a dark room
with dark thoughts
like the darkest clouds
occupying my mind
feeling lost for eternity.

No flicker of light
to be found.

Will the sun rise—
rise again, just for me?
to show a new path,
towards a new horizon.

"It's raining in my skull,"
says the woman who creases

matter-of-factly into sunned chop
of stone beside me on a city corner;

her eyes topple and drop into
her sullied mauvish oval bag

which spills crowds of rag and bone
into her floral fields of lap.

Then: a sudden psithurism
fences us in elm tilt, we sag

into the listen; what strange words
these foredoomed leaf-curls brush

into prose, sericeous speech
that smuggles death lessons

through the ring of afternoon.
It shakes us both: a mouthful

of extermination addressed
to us in the language of night places.

An empire of silence is reinstated
for a lonely tyrant minute until

the bus arrives; she gathers
her handfuls of sparks and solemns,

steps up into the air, and is gone.
Alone, I rescind every mercy I was ever given.

maybe i have nothing good to say, because I've never been loved before
feelings come and they fly away, never my way
it's easy to write about things you know nothing about, the words that crawl from under your skin, they're the ones that tear you apart
let them tear me down

I looked at you, with everything I thought I knew, fell into a place I've searched,
for so long
i looked at you, full of hope, and called it "truth", never been harmed before, gave you my body and soul

you looked the other way..

A sunny morning
Out goes the washing
Sun shining
Giving off a warm glow
Of a beautiful day
The warmth of Sun rays
One of those washing days!
Then but oh then
Opened up the heavens
The rain came down, then more
Oh And then more
Wet is the washing
I do implore
Oh no and more!
It all fell to the floor!

How can I unmake indignant hands,
rolled, into fists?
If I kiss the fingers, will they unfold,
like celestial doors,
and beckon me in?
If I traverse your lifeline,
with softened eyes, and lips,
will we time skip,
Into a time, and place,
that's better, than this?

Even in thunder,
you dwell
at the center, of me.

I wonder,
would you melt...
with my hand, on your cheek.