Grief

The Hangman

Without fear
Primordial oozing
Sipped through straws
Bony fingers
On clammy hands

The hangman says
It’s reckoning day
Calls boys and girls
To come and play…

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Great Expectations

I’ve spent too long

Memorizing the pauses in lovesongs

Looking for a man

To fill the gaps

With his presence.

A wicked emptiness

A life devoid of self

I found myself alone…

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Cold Prose

We claim
To know those
We had close
To overdose on
Cold prose
To wallow in
My poetry
A symphony of
Sympathy…

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Softly, deftly
Night caressed me once again
I sat, drinking the ink from my pen.
What’s once more,
when the glass is always half empty?
What’s once more,
when my screams into the dark
are met with no echo…

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Departed

Silent sighs
That come in threes
I count them out
With shaky knees
Don’t fold
Don’t falter
Or try to alter
Still, the frigid cold

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Grief

The Hangman

Great Expectations

Cold Prose

Promises

Departed