Treading Sand


Photo Credit: JakezDaniel at

We walked together,
my hand cupped by yours,
my heart tangled with yours,

and hot breath
on cold windows,
cold mornings
where saying goodbye
bore no resemblance
to reality.

I screamed.
You only whispered,

and the lines criss-crossed the desert,
the vast significance
of our separation
treading sand
as if it were water.

I’ve got paper wings
and a plastic heart
and you’re caught up
in wandering webs of doubt
created by your own antipathy,
the whirlpool of condensation
you kept from my cup,
the hopeless in the hoping,

so now we’re here,
alone and together,
near yet apart.

I can almost taste you,
that sweet flavor
of your tongue
as you pretend
that time’s not moving.



Between the Eaves


Photo Credit: adrianismyname at

I am smeared
with memories of you,
covered over with promises
we meant to keep,
stories we meant to tell,
and I find myself
folded up
with your image
tangled around me,
twisting its way into my skin,
turning my bones
into branches that subsist
on you alone.

I feel the reaching,
the ever-present sound
of you breathing,
the smoke twirling
between the eaves,
ruffling my hair
and sending me into portals
I never knew were there.

The fear has crippled you,
bent you,
tortured the love
from your hands,
yet still you burn,
yearn for one more glance
among the many,
and I stand on mountains
screaming your name
into foggy depths
of futures made
from dreams
we forgot to keep.


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Crumbling Illusions


Photo Credit: Cernobyte at

You are this figment,
this echo repeating my name.

I see you in shadows,
in haunted roads
and invisible moments
forgotten along with the past.

My life is lived
in this insane retrospect
because its prospects
are so undefined,
so abstract and ambiguous.

I look ahead
by looking behind
and it’s turning me
into a crazy person.

Lock me up!

I’m dangerous to myself
and all these people who love
this me I’m not really
because I don’t know
what the real me is.

Does anyone?

I envy those people,
the 26 year old
millionaires or moguls.
The ones who’ve written
their life’s works,
married their true loves,
while I’m wasting away
wondering if
I should have dreams at all.

Yet I dream and
flounder and
choose wrong
again and again
until all I see
are illusions
and fictions I’ve built
brick by brick,
memory by memory,
and I watch
as they all crumble
around me.



Small Things


Photo Credit: valeriemonthuit at

We could talk,
speak of
small things
and beauty,
of broken pieces
and tall melodies
sauntering through
places tied to your heart,
circling mine
even though the miles
look like oceans
instead of steps.

The impossibly blue sky
shimmers because
it’s all not real,
these parking lot memories
and river side whispers.


They hover
and I reach,
but I am here
and they are there
in gossamer fields
blowing in imaginary winds.



Of Living and Bugs


Photo Credit: andyp89 at

There you are,
sittin’ there
like a real,
live person,

talkin’ and jokin’
like things are
funny or interesting,
like you’re living
a whole life

filled with
people and
dancing and
jobs and
vacations and


while I’m dying,
curled up
like a little bug
waiting for

the squish.



Nothing Would Stop Me


Photo Credit: Melidesidero at

Feet pounding
against rigid ground,
running towards disaster,
I am always yours,
always us.

Each step
through my limbs,
banging around
inside my skin,
reminding me
that nothing would stop me.

No obligations,
would stay my hands
from touching you.

I would scale the world
if it meant I would
feel you,
hear you,
taste you
once again.

Nothing would stop me.

Yet everything has.



Wicked Ricochet


Photo Credit: CaraMcGuireStudios at

The words
rake my throat
as they ricochet
out of my mouth,

spit here
onto wicked white screens,
plastered to
the straining eyeballs
of those who try to see me.

Shouts echo
through empty halls,

through full minds
smothered in lines
made from blood
and angst
and love,

and I’m in the dark
but I feel all of these hands
all over me,
touching me with eyes
that feel like fingers

and I am
torn and healed
at once
because of
ears and eyes,
strangers who listen

because you won’t.



Walking in Dreams


Photo Credit: incolor16 at

It’s all slipping away,
each shiny minute you were mine.

We crumble as we fall,
ancient shards on frozen floors,
and all I see is you,
holding me up,
reminding me to breathe,
proving we existed
even when it felt like
walking in dreams.





Photo Credit: BlackCocktail at

How can such tiny pieces
into tinier bits?

I find myself
as sand and glass,
their precarious balance
shifting in storm winds.

In a moment,
I could be fragments,
piles of brokenness
on the banks of rivers
you can’t remember.

How can I turn this fragility
into strength
or is it strong
to know how to break

because it seems
I’ve mastered
the intricacies
of falling apart.