The char on the inside Doesn’t go away Tattooed and scarred Although the bleeding Stopped, years ago The ache remains I scrape at it A
Category: Poetry & Prose
Come Looking
If you ever feel like looking You can find me scattered Across the plains, twisting In the valleys, longing Within the groves, endless Pieces, here
Blessed are the Meek
i’m about done with all this constant need for knowing incessant dissection of the absurdity spinning around and through me elaborated constructs of meaning in
Old Men and Their Candy
The old man satLegs crossed, foot bouncingThe blinds were drawnSummer heat screamingFrom the warped floorboardsYou could see the dust, each particleFloating in faint strips of
Everyone Gets the Bullet
Strange workings These days The inner Twisted to outer Painted with lies They no longer smile No need to hide True intentions For we are
Nothing
I grow tired of the reflection How it always stares back at me Like an old friend I’ve watched over the years Condescending, knowing, judging
