Archangel

Once, within my hearing, and thinking himself alone, he said I wish I were dead. And I didn't man up to that. I god damn kept my hands in my pockets and shied away from his tortured road. And now, in my time of life, I see to it that things are kept clean, most... Continue Reading →

A house away from home

Was that house one of lies one of alcohol and fear Were there violences muffled by bedroom doors and punishments sealed by closet doors Gone without... gone without Come to me now Lay those ghosts in my hands Let us live for time is so short ~photo by Ben Gingell / Getty images

By design

What is here,by design,is umbilical to me.This feed of lifeand blood of red.But now,instead,a sorry headthinks of strifeand the future of a knife.

Everything, and the kitchen sink

* Mental health triggers, suicidal ideation* God.  You know, I'm just washing dishes, feeling useful and kind of self-satisfied. Haven't dropped anything or cut myself, even though the bothersome cat is weaving around my legs.  I swear- if he had a ball of yarn, I would have been a coccoon by now. See, it's the... Continue Reading →

Doctor Doctor

cigarette burnsunder the sheets the temporary bee stingsof random needlings pinpoint pricks purposely playedbait for a loon’s scratchings mad reveries in broad daydraw attention to comic despair Oh Doctor DoctorCan’t you see me burning burningCan’t you see me burn?

Madmen

Pain spreads into virgin veins and newly thought-of branches. An insistent fist, twisted and knuckle-pressed into the backs of us. We have looked, dry-eyed, into the dark drear, contriving a laugh, picturing courage and rebellion while fetal in our dampened beds. And, in the light of day, we walk, zombified and smiling.

Ungrown

Lord of somethings, How does one who fixes us find a way in? Past facades, careful constructs, ego and id, scar tissue and regret, to bind an ungrown soul?

How to be insensitive

The held back tears of a smarting sting. The shame overheard in a chance eavesdrop (that slow knife, rusting in place and broken off at the handle). The social dread, the uttered stutter. Where do we put such medals? Because they're not becoming of a man.

The Difference

Clarice awakes, but her dream abides. Don't be offended when she speaks pleasantries, or not at all. What you might hear is only a placeholder for a short story of ten thousand pages. She's seen a distant horizon, but can't get there. Knows the true names of our colours, and how to ask questions of... Continue Reading →

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