Tuesday, February 23, 2010


My love no longer comes around
in dreams ebb more than they flow
and today, hurdles are bigger than they
built them back then. I climbed
Mt. ever rest once, all-day. Everyday.
I'm so low i can't do it. It starts raining
pornography running off overflowing
graves washing up dead man's bones.
Where blinking lights are speeding
backwards, silence sticks out
like a sore thumb. This is where
our souls don't fly; our minds
eaten like sardines in a crushed tin box.
Our hearts don't pound.
My eyes opened and I am blissfully alone.
My love no longer comes around,
and I eagerly prick my fingers with needles waiting to feel.

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