-
There are pieces of glass on the floor of my apartment. Pieces that once belonged to something--my seeing stone.
-
Sitting on the curbside of inspiration, Where Two Roads Diverge in a Yellow Wood.
-
-
-
Something different from me, I think...
-
-
-
-
Freedom never tasted so clearly vile.
Doomed to wander the bewildered, misty and forgotten mile,
-
They say that death becomes her
They say that’s how it is
-
Say hello to the start of never
Erase all the writing on the wall
-
Loneliness is the Serpentine.
The Sublimely unsublime
-
Like scepters worn thin
From life
-
-
Tears never did anything to solve a war.
But they're all I can think to do...cry.
-
The sky fell today / A thundering crash / It fell with all the clouds / Misting around my ankles / And the stars burning my feet / With the moon in the center / Waving its retreat / And the sun circled aimlessly
-
Like quickened silver my eyes catch / a falling star falling behind the trees. / With ease I rest my mind. / Gravity has not yet escaped me. / With great granite bearings I am weighed down. / Though the world spins,
-
Some secrets are hidden like deep murky waters / Sullen, dirty, yet right there to fish through. / The problem is secrets run deeper than the murky water. / What of the bottom of the fissure? / What of the other hidde
-
Night time. / Solitary darkness. / Stationary stars. / Zero gravity moon. / No changing tides, / No shifting luck. / Stagnate. / Karma reciprocates. / Ebb and flow, / Good blow for bad blow. / Under the et
-
A statuesque existence / Moving in perpetuality / Forever sad and alone / Wishing that the obvious was unknown. / Staring at the stars—the ones you / Numbered for me with your love. / I don’t believe you. / I ca
-
Prose cannot possibly express my sorrow. / Sorrow for losing myself. Where am I? / Who have I become? Why am I a monster? / I have betrayed the sacred order of dignity, / Honesty, friendship, integrity.&nb
-
Revealed in the moonlit twilight of the soul's indignation. / Remniscence of bliss. Happiness. Soul to Soul confirmation. / The Charcoal of my Soul's fingers like cinders mark themselves upon the wall. / Bittermen
-
Poetry is dead to me. / It died alongside my heart. / No more beats of prosody. / No more blood leaked from my pen and parts. / No more thoughts of love--they're dead. / No more thoughts of gloom. / No more hidden
-
I play the vulnerable character / The one with big dreams / Who wants to be like her daddy. / The mother who has lost her son / To a war—an airplane crash. / The daughter with an illness--- / Or the daughter who l
-
Dante’s ninth and innermost level of hell was made of ice. / It held traitors, betrayers, backstabbers. / The people within its icy walls were numb to their nerves. / They had no nerves. They had nothing but gnawi
-
My heart is in two places like time, it can only find itself
-
There is certain beauty in time, In the way the wood whispers;
-
This is the first time I’ve cried in a while. I’m tired of going the extra mile.
-
In the depths of despair it’s hard to say The places we go when we’re feeling lost,
-
My heart is without prosody. Without you I am a monotonous beat inside myself.
-
-
-
-
-
She was a ghostly hazard, her eyes sunk in to her gaunt body Hollow-eyed, pale, skeletal she moved slowly, breathing barely
|