Monday, October 24, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
throws out my faux discretions
and somehow finds such lines and stanzas
a list of bold transgressions.
in words without a fever at all
but full of reason and rhythm and rhyme
of course i'm speaking of yours
at times they miss the time they spent
in the queue that never moved.
For action would mean desperation.
or worse, a love disproved.
because, you see,
i am prose, and you are poetry
i fall between your meters and metes
unable to fit your soliloquy
and at the bottom, there is beauty that these syllables do make
when they are free to flow as they will.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Sunday, October 2, 2011
The city howled at the moon as she sat there feeling lifeless, the harsh brightness of the screen drawing her into a whirlwind of thoughts. The kind of thoughts that were never true, but she still perpetuated as a cruel way to lie to herself. She imagined that she had been forgotten by the ones who still understood her. It's not so hard to do when you're depressed, wondering why your friends aren't trying to find you in the same maze they've become lost and alone in. The thoughts become poisons so thick you can feel them crawling into your brain and staining it all a blurred sort of darkness until you've become blind with it. She welcomed them in, knowing they would hurt her. She wanted them to.