There is something so heroic about wreckage. about this wreckage about our wreckage like the ocean shore after the storm as we watch all the ocean things scurry deep back into hiding and all it’s pretty things smashed as the water meets the land like a broken lover. all the colors scattered like bed sheets.… Continue reading Wreckage; a poem
I am terribly afraid. I am scared of becoming the piece of past you ran from. That I may become a living memory that is not my own. Same record; different break. You see, I have this tendency to lose myself in people. I won’t find my beginning and end; nor my middle. I only… Continue reading The Past Poem; a poem
Most people wear their love on their eyelids. It fits well on on our half moons and sometimes sun. Illuminates whom it inhabits as it forces their eyes to close until they start dreaming of things beyond rabbit holes. But you, you my darling, wear it on your shoulders like forgotten burdens. You’ve become condemned… Continue reading Condemned Love; a poem.