Lost in the moment—
as you fixed my loose dress.
Click, as you laughed
when the pin pierced my flesh.
Pain dressed as care,
The quietest attack.

Red dress, stained.
Ruby red blood.
Your favorite color,
was it not?


I smiled in the mirror
while you stood there,
frozen in cold contempt.
You expected me to flinch,
to scream, or to feel,
but alas.

That rush of sadness came in a hurry,
No trace of fear, no hint of worry.
Just silence where indifference marked its territory.


All the regret
bled out through my capillaries,
pooling beneath the dermis
staining the irregularities.
A quarter of my lifetime,
amputated clean from memory.

Replaced,
by that one selfish sliver of a night.
You loved anatomy,
did you not?


Anatomy, how poetic.
Cutting things open,
Watching what spills out, the cries,
Scalpel-sharp lies, incisions in disguise,
No remorse, no regret,
Behind your hooded eyes.

You called it curiosity as you pulled me apart,
Just another patient, dissected for your art,
It's funny how clinical you were with my heart.


Thirteen.
*******. Years.
Dragging silence cause it owed me tears.
You stood by me, loyal n blind.
You, the anchor babe
I unhooked just in time.

Maybe he was right when he called you fat,
At least not literally but **** it, it fits.
You always loved metaphors,
did you not?


Shipwrecked our fairytail,
Rotting over the reef,
You were looking for mermaids,
While i drank with the fiends,
******* our love for Elsa,
I did finally let you go. Neat.

My drink sank faster than our wrecked old ship,
Laughed as the whiskey scorched every sip,
Not once did your tears leave that kind of burning.


Hearts were shattered
Plural, if I’m honest.
(******* liar)
Goodbyes were said
Lit a fire in the forest,
You know how it goes,
Nothing says closure like a little gasoline.

All that love we swore we'd never unlearn
Flames in my thorat, as i watched it all burn.
Ashes lay there, waiting for the phoenix,
Tell me babe, was it now "aesthetically pleasing?"

O heart, soul, core, me:
If I do exist,
I am exactly pristine in condition
Under the surface of a pond
Frozen in eternal ice.

O want, wish, will, dream:
The ice that denies life,
Sapping its oppressive strength,
Transforming its innocent weakness;
Making brittle the bold,
Making hard the soft.

O form, frame, flesh, face:
The palm of my hand
Is spread against the bottom of the ice,
Reaching up as though to grasp
All the nothing I aspire to.

Asked her

   "Whatever?
    Whenever?
    Wherever?
    Forever?"


Sh­e said

   "Never"

They came and took the dog away today
and they’re going to put it to sleep
because it barked, they say.
A lady dropped a dime in the checkout line
and no one stooped to pick it up.
She shrugged and said, “It’s just a dime.”
An old man on the bench in the park watched a kid run about,
tossing peanuts to the pigeons. The old man grinned
and waved and nodded and someone called the cops to check him out.

Some teens made a giggling trip to the mall
during the day, a school day, to shop for jeans.
In the food court they had burgers and a malt.
A woman in a minivan hurried into the grocery lot.
She never gave it a thought as she parked,
ignoring the sign for the handicapped spot.
An elderly lady sat in the library with a permanent pout,
not reading her book. She fell asleep and passed away
and for a day, a very long day, no one came to check her out.

They came and took the dog away today.
The veggie stand sold the last of the corn.
Winter came and took the leaves away.
Somewhere, someone was popping popcorn,
the smell hanging in the air like bacon frying
and in the hospital, another baby was born.
On the news they said an icy patch ended the lives and ride
of this drunken man and the girl whose car he hit.
We lit a fire today. It was cold, so very cold. Outside.

A flame once thrived on outer heat,
In comfort’s arms, its life complete.
It danced on winds, so wild, so free,
Unknowing warmth could ever flee.

It never learned to guard its core,
Believed the warmth would ever pour
The world had fed its every spark,
And lit its path through every dark

But one still day, the skies turned gray,
The winds grew cold and pulled away
The warmth it knew slipped out of sight,
And left the flame to face the night

It gasped for warmth, for hands, for light,
But frost had chained its wings in flight
Its hues grew pale, its spark withdrew,
A golden heart turned cold and blue

It tried to shout, but none replied,
No flame to spark, no light to guide
It fought to burn but lost the fight,
Now flickered weak in ash and night

Deep in the dark, a whisper grew,
A hidden beat no one once knew
A memory kept, by heart it's known,
A spark that glows when all alone.

In that silence, a spark was born,
A brand-new blaze, untouched, untorn.
No sun, no wind could feed its flame,
It burned alone untamed, aflame.

It shed the wish for borrowed light,
And made its warmth against the night.
Not just to live, but to ignite,
And turn the freeze to glowing white

The cold around began to shift,
Its biting edge began to lift.
The flame, now still but burning deep,
Had taught the dark itself to weep.

And as the frost began to fade,
A dance of light and shadow played.
For even in the coldest night,
The smallest flame can birth the light.

I know the sun will rise at dawn,  
But not the paths my feet will drawn.  

I know the words, yet not their weight,  
Nor how they’ll twist or seal my fate.  

I know the sea, its waves so wide,  
But not the depths where secrets hide.  

I know the seed, but not the tree,  
Or what its branches yet may be.  

I know the start, but not the end,  
A fleeting thought I can’t defend.  

I know enough to humbly say—  
The more I learn, the less I know each day.

I caught the deep inky blue of it
in bottles
labeled 'pleasing'
and set them on a shelf
next to bowls full of tears
and baskets full of unwanted memories.
It was cold
aching like limbs in the winter
sip it,
let the ice unfurl,
bitter on your tongue,
grief catching
in your throat
before settling into the pit
of your stomach,
like a swallowed apple seed.
one day the winds came
knocking all of the bottles down
and all around in the broken air,
ruptured by the fragmented glass,
screams - starved and rising
screams shattering bone
screams - ringing
wild and ragged
at last.

I have always love
the flame that you make—
a warmth that hums against my skin,

soft as whispered smoke,
kind enough
to forget it could burn.

The same kind you wield
around so desperately
toward those frozen far too long to thaw.

They were already
too deep in cold to ever feel
the love you were told

was not enough—by the people
who wore the skin of
the new generations of love.

I wanted to touch you,
but I cannot let you light so long.
not before—you turn into ashes.  

I wanted to light my own bones
and radiate the same kindness
you burn so bright

and glow the same
pinkish red of love
too tender for everyone else but you.