These days are short.
Feeling yellow orange, no trace of blue
Superfast sanity, of an artist’s taste, a bright mural, fresh and blooming
Old hands cover my eyes, those bright stars of mine
As I lift them to the summer sky, pen in hand
Flowers move in my peripherals, but I can see them fine.
There’s no time to ponder on the present.
What am I going through!
A warm sureness, nothing else is as important as this.
I want, I need summer forever
What a feeling. What a feeling.

dear god,
are you here. I can't tell anymore
i've changed
I'm not that little flower anymore with you so present in her little mental sky
dear god,
is this so wrong
ending this thing you created
this wretched thing
with intent and purpose and passion.
strong.
you call this. strong.
screaming crying kicking weeping wailing convulsing. dying?
so, god
is this how it ends
just the way it began
implacable, soft, angelic
here it is- beauty, horror, tragedy, love. Love. i love you more than anything.
all this. just between us. just you. and me.

Old.
a paragon of the end
every hour, minute, every breath taken from these pious lungs
can’t I slow this **** down
stay breathing, seeing, feeling everything
it’s everything I ever wanted.
I’m getting Older.
aging like dread and white silence
finality, a prognostication from the oracle himself has ruined my spirit, ruined me.
I’m going to die.

Everything is fine.
Winter is here, as are these sullen eyes, tired already of red and green.
The typewriter is cold; the ashtray is warm.
Everything is nothing. Everything everything.
It’s so… pretty.
Don’t speak to me of December.
This season to me is but a waking dream.
Unreal, unwanted
Vertigo, a 3 AM special covets me between sleep and wake.
Is any of this even real
I feel so pretty.
Life is so, so pretty.

Beau is dead.
I did my grieving. Some years of it, eyes gone all bloodshot blurry
But in my mind, He’s not quite gone.
Behind these eyes, Beau lives on, quietly.
His all-seeing eyes are home tonight, all blue and prideful.
Deepest blue
I’ll meet Him somewhere in my thinning sleep,
quivering with unthinkable fear.
“I am always with you”
I can’t take this anymore get out of my head GET OUT OF MY HEAD
Beau is gone, Beau is dead… Beau is living in my head.
No! He’s dead and gone, buried oceans deep;
Where fathers falter, daughters sleep.
There’s a price to pay for being His Girl;
The little rose is food for Beau.
White face, black hair, wide eyes gone glazed
A broken head, a broken neck,
He fought until His ***** death.
Beau! Beau! Beau!
Where are you now?
But I know that answer, know it well.
Beau is burning deep in hell.

i’ve tried to stop loving you.
I thought of all the bad things I could, even the worst.
I have been loved, I have.
the stars told me once.
somehow, that feels lonelier than anything I could have said.
though we’re apart, you still hold a special place in my hand. a silken hand. maybe two.
now I have something to love for a little while.
I don’t want to, but I want you.
and all the while it’s killing me.

I’ve been eating myself.
Like something unreal. A worker bee, a wasp.
But I feel it in my being: I’m going to be alright; my time will come.
I’ve seen flies on my face.
Like something I read about once. A novel, a poem.
Can’t feel my toes through this plaster. Nor my fingers. I didn’t think I’d bleed.
I’ve been to the other side, but I’m okay now.
I just got a little lost coming back home.
But I swear it, I’m just fine.
I love you so much.