A conversation bright with smiles and laughter.

A silence that fills voids and speaks unto itself.

I can feel the threads pulling, weaving together.

The unsteadiness of a swoon.

I look down to secure my balance, my confidence.

Wondering if the emotion I feel spill through my chest

is moving in a line or a circle.

Embers to Ashes

And it sits in me still

That wanting

Sometimes thrilling but more often


And my head tends to throb

From the thinking

And my heart flutters still

As it’s sinking

I beg myself to stop

The madness

To stop picturing life like

I had this

When the thoughts are

Unfailingly seeping

I still glow in the embers

I’m keeping


The friction between graphite and paper.

Its drag on the paper a catharsis, like digging for secrets

through rock laden earth.

An easily broken trowel

still capable of excavating caverns

long covered over by the soil of denial.

The sounds of it like the plaguing questions we spare answering

for we still aren’t ready to hear the truth.

The hiss of roiling pots on a stove throwing water upon the flames

attempting to douse them.

The staccato of nagging realities

The swoop of a blotted memory

The scritch of all that haunts your mind when sleep is due.

But also,

The call to slow down, and release this weight within you

before you sink through the silt.

Depth Perception

Glassed over, unblinking

Apart from the world

As if from reality

They have been hurled


No longer seeing

What lies before

The widening blankness

Is hard to ignore


You can feel the dawning

Of truth now occurring

The mood in the room

Is building and whirring


No moment hence

Shall ever resemble

What this single moment

Has now disassembled

Subtle Shade

Clad in catastrophe

Drenched in distress

Soaking with somber

Regally repressed


Boisterously broken

Addictive adulation

Morbidly magnificent

Lurid lamentation


Perpetually plagued

Winsome within wallowing

Entropically engaged

Fanatic in their following


Gargantuanly grieving

Tyrannically trite

Violently vapid

Naturally, at night

Flight Feather

The glassy top of a quiet lake grows wings as the fowl land upon it.

The disruption makes waves that lap to the shore fraying its once still edges. The sudden sounds crack the quiet facade. Some modest, some taunting and shrill.

The surface breached by ravenous beaks and bills. Below, the chaos is churned by the need for survival.

The fish, like pieces of the lake, who believed they would always be there.

In a raucous mounting the birds have gone, reinstating the serenity as if untouched,  save one pristine feather upon the lakes face floating gracefully.


The shallow breaths of pleasure shudder from us as if we are incapable or undeserving of wielding such a power.

An expansion elicited from intimacy, doors and windows splintered open by the maelstrom. A frightening sort of joy.

Chaos and clarity converge, pinched together in fleeting moments.

Not just naked but boneless and skinless in an avalanche, we eschew our defenses for a feeling just like the greatest victory.

We assign it a sanctity, we imbue it with divinity for nothing so monumental can only be made from what is within us. As if a greater power intervenes and gifts this delight.

We are only human but in these moments we are emboldened to forget


A voice not of your making

But purely formed with passion

Born from a frustration

Of things said in careless fashion


A power builds within you

Your mind a sharpened blade

The thoughts come forth with ease

Without hindrance, without aide


A flowing source of knowledge

To battle flagrant spouting

A bravery and wisdom

Shown without a bit of shouting


Delivering succinctly

To their resistant ears

The message they have needed

But long refused to hear

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