Somewhere between ripe and rotting, I will love me again

Wear my flesh like rind and reclaim my sweetness


I am not dying yet, but I am not living         and I am thirsty

For days, dazed and drugged on dirt’s divinity, brown knees


Nestled under the willow tree, the sun promises to purify me

Before the night swallows it whole, and regurgitates it tomorrow.


Somewhere between ripe and rotting, I will shatter my shame

Shed my sin, kiss palm to palm and nail a cross above my bed


Rid myself of impiety and feel what it feels to be clean.

I will walk the veins of the forests and trail the spines of the hills


Forage for berries and fall stupidly in love, over and over and over

With the art of existence and one day I will mean it when I say


I want to live. I want to live. I want to live. I want to live.

She had of the prettiest smiles I’ve ever seen
It felt like a reflection of all things bright
As if the world had no darkness, only light
I never seen anything so serene

I was late to lunch today
She had already taken a seat in a corner booth
By the look on her face, she couldn’t hide the truth
Yet she didn’t know what words to say

Her eyes glisten when she talked
It seemed the nervous feelings were gone
And so, the feelings continue to feed on
With feelings of love now locked

I remember a time like that, to be brave
She reminded me of you and your glow
He reminded me of myself, before you had to go
For I wish there was more than flowers on a grave

time doesn't slow down for a talk,
like the resting heartbeat
of a ticking bomb.
every pause could last days,
could last weeks,
could last years.
it could end with a shot,
it could break with a kiss.
like a memory, split in a billion pieces,
like a mountain, with all its valleys and creases,
like an enemy missile,
about to be dropped,
time doesn't slow down for a talk.

no sound.
when you're drowning there's nothing
but endless, unlimited space,
a bottomless vacuum of thought.
from water we come into the world;
its shallow, yet tight embrace
accompanies us till we're nothing
again.
no strings to be bound,
no sound
and no pain.

mornings are slipping away in a blur,
patterns of certain habitual sadness.
words with no meaning,
disease with no cure.
porcelain dolls, both lifeless and ageless.
haunted by visions, hidden in mirrors,
wrapped in despair, victims and sinners,
chasing the rush of the next final turn.
decades are slipping away in a blur.