I’m Obsessed

World’s Turning,
and I Don’t Want To Know.
it’s Secondhand News,
that i’m Nothing Without You.
Brown Eyes, Cool Water.
Crystal Dreams Everywhere;
Fireflies, Dragonflies.
Little Lies.
Don’t Stop.
i’m Hypnotized.

Sara,
my Rhiannon,
my Albatross,
I’m So Afraid.
In The Back Of My Mind
Isn’t It Midnight?
i Need Your Love So Bad,
our Tango In The Night.

Love Is Dangerous,
but Love Shines.
my Seven Wonders,
my Silver Springs,
Gold Dust Woman,
I Do. I Do. I Do.

i’m a Sentimental Lady,
I Know I’m Not Wrong.
so Save Me,
Say You Love Me,
Say You Will.
I’m in Over My Head,
Over And Over,
Only Over You.
it’s a Monday Morning Landslide,
and i Can’t Go Back
Without You.

A Tree Fell in the Garden

From death always comes life;
All things begin anew
In the garden of my soul
And in the valley that is you.
My heart begins to sing
From the marrow of my being;
And all the things I’ve ever been
I’ve laid out for you, seeing
If you’ll save me from this life
Of endless pain and dying
And bring this earth to great renown
Or leave mother nature crying.

I posted this on my Instagram, https://www.instagram.com/p/BwlQtcCHCwi/?utm_source=ig_share_sheet&igshid=1la1iyxbbea20 ,in honor of Earth Day. Because if we forget what the world has given us, and the beauty in both life and death, then we’ve forgotten where we come from and where we’ll return. Everything is a circle. We just need to appreciate and care for what we have.

There’s an Open Pack of Cigarettes

There’s an open pack of cigarettes in the glove box.
I haven’t smoked them.
I found them,
left behind,
in the office.
So I took them,
my fingers itching to steal,
lungs aching to burn,
brain wanting a release.
I have never smoked.
A lie.
I smoked once,
half of one,
passing the still-lit cigarette to a friend,
singing loudly into the night
as she double-fisted the burning sticks
out the car window
doing sixty.
But I want to.
Which is why,
weeks later,
there’s an open pack of cigarettes in the glove box.

Drowning

I’m drowning
in antiseptic apologies,
clever words disguising
a poisoned tongue,
your tongue,
laced with hydrofluoric acid that,
at first,
cuts with no bite.
But bitter words leave bitter wounds.
And they fester,
burrowing,
until your blood and bone burn
and they become your very being.
It’s a barbed wire tongue
that lashes and cuts,
wrapping around a mind
until it’s yours,
you’ve won,
nothing exists.
Except empty apologies,
flawed balms,
and twisted words that become true.

At The End

At the end
or perhaps, the beginning,
there was me
and you,
a boy,
a girl,
stuck on the edge
of a wheel,
feet skimming the grass,
hovering,
staring.
Hands itching closer,
closer,
fingers stretching
as much as fingers can,
bones pressing at the fabric of skin
until nothing
except a spark,
static,
the universe itself,
lay between the outstretched hands
And the wheel turned,
grass brushing
bare feet,
soft skin,
and the distance grew,
shrunk,
melted away
in the mist of the day
that had become night
in the time it took
for two hands
to touch,
for fingers
to brush,
for a beginning to end
and an end to begin
and a wheel to turn
the cycle again.

I Can’t Sleep

Something’s wrong.
I can’t rest, can’t sleep
can’t find comfort
in a bed and sheets,
or warmth, safety,
a pillow beneath my head.

I can’t sleep.

I’m in a perpetual state
of pure exhaustion,
eyes a desert,
on fire,
burning eternally.
My mind stops,
a fragment of thought a refrain with no end,
half-finished stories, prolonged ideas,
persisting,
day in, day out,
no rest for a wicked mind,
and
I can’t sleep.

The City Is Quiet Tonight

The city is quiet tonight.
No noise, no life.
Just starlight
And us,
Two heartbeats in a city
That calls to us,
Beckons us,
Becomes us.
Two souls wandering alone,
Fingers itching to touch,
To hold,
To map out your body,
My own city,
Always quiet, and calm,
No others but us.
The city is beautiful tonight.

I also posted this on my Instagram, and I sometimes post small poems there, too.