stone

It used to be
Crystal prisms
Fading
Into the shady colors
Of night
Of forgotten
A rock
Pounding
Dulling
The sharp edges
Of the past
Now
The hazy face
Comes into focus
Now it is a stone
That hones the edge
To a fine instrument
A razor-sharp scalpel
Dissecting my life
While I still
Breathe
And bleed
And remember
Profusely

i cant do titles. they stress me out.

And when you say
That
I didn’t
Have it
To do it
Maybe you’re right
But it only serves me
Notice
That I wasted
And should not
Any more
So you won
Yours
But a piece
No longer
Yours

yeah, another one without a title

you say
now
gone
entirely
only
stark
colors
lines
drawn
again
now
you tell me
from there
perhaps
it wears
on you
stale
of yesterday
this is the sad clown
you cant see eyes in the dark

the first

he ate the fruit
that is how the end began
in the beginning
and having
a spirit like his
it was not a punishment
it was a quiet statement
of self
of lack
of despair



thank you all for reading.

you want a title too?!

when everything looks two dimensional
flat
to teeter
and fall
with a gust of wind
raising dust
revealing a cloudy horizon

but here
it is sunny
so why worry

but the abiding fear
consuming
even here
in the sunshine
i think of poison

another one. dont have a title.

and now
people
an angry swarm of bees
a foul stench
the taste of decay
some rotting corpse
something i once took in
and i dont know
what it is
or how to rid myself of it
i can only guess
and that is the most
dangerous game

once

once, we were reluctant lovers
correction
i was reluctant
more precisely, hesitant
you gave freely
and then we left
and now i revisit
my decision
or lack of decision
and know
i know
that it should have been
very different