A prowling lion,
A hungry wolf.
Any number of things
may feast on me
because I am weak.
Sharp teeth
Sharper claws
my meek sensibility
cowers beneath.
A docile sheep dies
a quiet bird hides,
and somewhere silently
courage cries.
Fragile faith
manipulated grace,
ripping expression
right from my face.
Torn and shattered
bones and flesh,
cracked teeth
and broken speech.
Strong yet humble,
with placid rage.
I wear the many faces of
a desperate plague.

Blue sky moon
awake so soon.
Why are you here
just a bit after noon?
Across from the sun
a tragic tale has begun
of the love you both must share
up there.
Unaware of the unlikelihood
that you'll ever truly meet.
Over a million kilometers
means the distance matters
and all that space must **** you.
Blue sky moon,
it's too bright for you here
but it's alright,
stars are near.
Though they must be just
a constellation prize
while the sun yearns for you,
it burns for you.
Blue sky moon,
I'd love to say you'll be together soon.
but this is untrue and a painful a view.
I'm sorry.
Time is cruel to me too.

Your words
seasoning my wounds
and shriveling up like salted slugs.
Foaming at the mouth
like a tidal wave
full of rage
ripped from a rabid sea,
ripe with redemption.
Oysters spitting out pearls:
A calming beauty,
an elegant innocence,
provoking upturned snouts.

Go to the store for roast beef
and then go home.

Vain love,
a low blow
hung in the air,
an echo.
Throwback,
Go ahead, laugh.
Still trapped,
all my selves still overlap,
layered lives,
thicker skin,
various fractal faces.

My dear girl, when will you learn?
Yearning for things does not bring them.
You start from square one over and over again,
like attraction is hopscotch.
That game was fun when you were a child,
but you're older now and should know better.
Remove your heart from your sleeve, please.
It's a fake.
Taped on and cut from red construction paper.
It's the wrong shape.
Simply a repeating pattern.
A garland of garnished emotions that were never real
strung out across your entire timeline.
Old habits die hard
but love is not a hobby.

There is something I have to offer in my right hand,
Extended forward toward you.
Before you decline take a good look at it,
Consider it’s weight,
It’s balance,
It’s value.
I offer you this as a gift void of bribery,
Though a strange gift it may be.
Presented in it’s purest form,
No wraps or ribbons
Disguising it as anything better or
Any more exciting than exactly
What it looks like.
Specifically for you,
For no reason,
For I rarely dabble in logic lately.
Left to your own devices
I assume you’d pick my left hand
Which holds nothing.
Which is exactly what you want.
Which is fine with me.
I don’t want to give you anything
Anymore
Anyways.

Torsos in windows,
dark shadows,
whispered laughter,
and a wishbone stick.
Sickly, spider trees
rustle in the night breeze
lightly.
Streetlight beams find me.
Nose growing cold.
Walking from home
all alone.