When I was younger And staring into the heat of Flames I created Camping I forget with who or Exactly when I got too close and Didn’t realize Until much later My eyelashes singed Short, like the bristles of A beard They grew back My brief concern, like all my …
My boyfriend can compartmentalize pain. He labels, organizes, and files it away. An unnecessary inconvenience – easily managed – that occupies the space it’s supposed to. Which makes the sweat pooling on his brow and the distant look in his eye all that more terrifying and impossible to understand. When …
Why don’t dying suns Have anxiety? Maybe they do Built up, bubbling, pressure Moments from explosion The density Of responsibility And thermonuclear fusion Creates mass Carried effortlessly By nothing and everything The tipping point between A black hole And everything we know
There are these trees in Sydney that captivate an essence. They erupt forth from their massive centers, branches hurtling for the sky, touching it and falling short all at once. Dark white bark envelopes this creature like pale, leathery skin; joyously aged. Your cacophony of limbs wraps around me, oh …
A friend goneNot for the first time, but the last He skipped after Alice down the rabbit holeShrieking with laughterHe got lost in high darknessfound no happily ever after Years of memories, words unspokenHearts shattered and friendships brokenLost souls fit in stolen walletsHome and bed became alleyway pallets He couldn’t …
Where do we go when we dieif all we’re doing is dying then maybe we’re already there. Where does dying decide to be, if deciding – doing – does. Does doing mean we’re dying too, or only distracting from doing – death? If dying doing does decide, to do a …
A soft christening of strings: the crinkled promises of Gods and Kings. Smells of pine a-mist frozen rivers. Dark blue nights wrapped up silent shivers. Times forgotten shine like stars above a crystal white blanket, spread far. Inside, the color red spills into wooden creaks casting tasty ribbons across pink …
Waves of heat hit me like syllables clipping in drama and sadness. We sit waiting for something to change the unwavering stench that is loss. We will never be as close as we want to be nor as far apart. click-click, hum-hum the metered sounds of fantasy we don’t know …
Twisted below your body I feel exonerated Proffered up into the pain of completion Fill me with fantasies Oh Of contentment And the deceitful beauty of dawn Remind me why we’re horribly perfect for each other In your arcane drawl Tell me why we’re perfect Or at least why I’m …
