We stumble over the liquid honey turned to rocks in our chests and split the lips we used to kiss each other with. We graze our faces and mark ourselves uglier, adding pepper to our frowns. The truths which shone lights into our murky minds have become razors to our affections, shredding our soft bits and callousing them. We walk haltingly, falling over ourselves and over others, often scratching them as we seek purchase on figments of feelings which once seemed so real. We are dragon flies with broken wings.



Abstractions in Red

Pink-tinted vision. Eyes bloodied from sweat dripping into them. Rose-coloured I see clearly and I do not see. I am contorting, stretching, breaking myself in new and old ways. It is why I cry. Searching inside, I pick my nose to bleeding. I bring the drops to my mouth. Hot copper on tongue. I find nothing. Just pain and dry lost dreams tears cannot water to life back. So I stopped crying. Just pain and a mourning for things undead. Red in my eyes, inside me is red. Outside is red, where I slit my wrists to purge my demons and slit their throats while kissing them. Reaching in and reaching out, reaching back out with scarlet, reaching out for crimson.


The earth is parched.
Like my soul.
Inside I am
Clawed dry by
Thoughts of what
Could have been,
Can be,
What the past cradled
What the days to come
It is raining.
In tune with
My heartbeat.
For the first time
In as many days
I pray
That it will pour with
A vengeance.
The earth is thirsty,
Like my soul.
For goodness.
For comfort.
Any comfort
From any arms.
I want the sky
To open up,
To quench the earth.
Maybe in the torrents
I will also find
The cool drops
Seeping into
My bones.

Where do all the tears shed go?

Where do all the tears shed go? If one could capture them, maybe they could water parched souls and give back life. Or, they could heal hearts burdened by sadness and loss and restore minds ravaged by worry. If they could but restore hope and conscience.

If only they could rejuvenate skins dry from standing too long in the sun praying to deaf gods and slake the thirsts of those who have been talking into the wind, talking to a self that does not listen.

In their billions, maybe they could even quench the whole earth and drown us all in a warm wet comfort. If they could bring back what has been lost and those who have been lost, it would be worth the sodden eyes and reddened faces. Maybe then tears would have value and grief meaning. Otherwise, it is all for nothing.