I feel like a black hole
when I sit at the bar.
Like there is no amount of liquor
that could fill this bottomless well
and people keep falling in.

I can hear them cry sometimes
finger nails clawing at stone
until the tips are rubbed raw.
Ghosts wailing in the dark
a throbbing in my chest,
Poe's Tell-Tale Heart.

I spoke to one once
at a queer hour in the morn
she said "It's beautiful down here"
even as her body was being torn
into billions of subatomic particles.

"It's beautiful" she cried
"I've seen the end of time
I've seen galaxies form
I've seen star's collapse
and again be reborn
I've seen life emerge
and I've seen it destroyed
I've seen it all with my eyes
and all the bad you've done,
all the guilt you carry
it isn't helping anyone
it's ok- it's ok-- it's ok---
to let yourself be happy"

I so badly desired
to have faith in her words
but I've never been one
to believe in ghosts.

Flowers, we both cried,
Because tears were not enough,
Petals cup the rain.

My left leg
is draped
across my right.
I know that
pretty soon
the pins and needles
will take hold.
Starting in the
fold behind my knee
and slithering into
a tiring ankle.
I don't much mind.
The rhythmic shake of
a nervous left foot
is mirrored,
as my right hand
finds my lip
and feels in earnest
for a loose flake
of dry skin
to pry off.
It will probably hurt.
I don't much mind.
I've fixed my eyes on
an empty stool,
analyzing the pattern.
Imagining the feel.
Imagining you;
What you'll say
when you get here.
To be honest...

I don't much mind.

How captivating it is
To watch the sun who was told she must love the sky, to fearlessly defy,
To fall to her knees,
Ignoring others pleas and
With all in sight
Kiss the earth goodnight.