Poetry

HOMEWARD

Spitting vile, burning the bridges you used to cross for me
Fetal, on my knees
Carving wishes into trees
You’re better than I could believe
Soaked in blood, my oozing sieve
Lost in eyes that aren’t mine
Devour the heaviness- make me benign
You’ve got me tracing thoughts on hopeful clouds
As muffled screams still echo loud
I am lost, but homeward bound
Your smile shines when I’m not around
I’m biting holes in my lips- getting scared
Not here? Then you’re gone, I’m prepared

FLOWER STORE

I smell it just the same as I did,
the last time I used a pen like this.
Before…this
But I don’t feel like I used to now.
I am standing where I always have,
but so much further than before.
This, this.
Pink pen, wet lense.
Depends, on dead ends and by bend.
On what? On when?
Sick of asking-I do it cause I’m lacking.
I’m embossed with loss.
Criss-crossed and pissed off.
There’s someone super important that I am looking for
And I think she’s on the floor,
Of a flower store.
She’s sleeping or dead?
Either way, it is pretend.
Where’s my friend?
Is she asleep?
Is she hungry?
She doesn’t eat.
Is she dead?
On the floor?
Is she starving?
She wants more.
Of something she can’t reach,
Laying down.
Maybe I could hand her something if I was around.
A friend, a friend.
They pick you up when you are down.
But I am no friend of who I’m looking for.
Some less, maybe more.
Underneath the floor?

HERMIT

The little things I used to crave have fallen underneath my grave.
The touch, the thought, the taste…
are all a waste.
I used to push away all the words I wouldn’t say,
now they’re coming out to play
without a care in their way.
The caring was the firewall that kept the words behind us all.
But now the care has come and gone, so words can’t tell right from wrong.
Now, it’s on. Turn me on.