Category: Uncategorized

Her mom called the hospital.
They let her in, although it was past full.
But they would find a way to get her inside.
They told her it would be nice (they lied.)

Why would this place be filled to the brim?
When not everyone is here on a whim?
Her mom had called ahead.
She needed help, but got the shot instead.

She couldn’t have left at any time.
Even when every thought is becoming like slime.
The clock on the wall makes her crazy.
But when they took it down, the words got even more hazy…

You get an injection on day one.
There is a fenced in yard, but no room to run.
Yet, she found a path to trace the halls.
While they denied her phone calls.

Day three comes around.
Without a sound.
Except her troubled grumblings.
And the floor rumblings.

She thought the shots were no good.
But now she wants to go back to her own neighborhood.
Without an injection on this horrible day.
There is nothing to keep them at bay.

Day ten.
Feeling lost in this play pen.
The fence is not as scary as it used to be.
The vending machine yells at me.

The hospital let her in 12 days before.
Group therapy is a bit of a chore.
But now the tension is no longer there.
She sleeps sometimes, and her roommate does care.

The roommate left two days ago.
There’s nothing out there in the snow.
Her parents left her a while back.
She laughed as she chewed on a generic snack.

Do my parents love me anymore?
I like to sleep on the floor.
Three weeks ago…
I think those memories will be the last to go.

Fiery crash.
Bombs detonating—
how did we get here?

Shrapnel in my hair.
Nothing’s fair in hate and war,
your finger poised on the trigger.

Take me back
to when I was in love with thoughts of you,
and you were lost in my eyes.

Gasps pool out of my chest,
‘sorry’ dying on my lips.
We silently vowed to always ruin each other.

Distance closed.
Your timing has never been worse.
Forgiving you died in the desert.

Chest compressions and yelling codes.
Our gazes locked—
the first one to break the silence loses.

My vulnerabilities scattered across the floor for you,
again and again and again.
I just wanted you to love me.

Too fucking late.
Your back turns away from me—
the cord between us snaps.

I crash.

Our whole relationship screamed the landlord special
Stained tubs, mold decorated ceiling
foolishly disguised with caulking and well-placed lighting.

Ignorance and neglect hidden beneath the adjacent crooked fixtures
Underneath the paint on paint on paint
Conflict avoidant
-C h e a p s k a t e-.

Not sure if I’m talking about the apartment
Or your retained love;
They both looked the same
A revolving door of “for rent” signs
Without proper abatement

Cleaned, scrubbed and furnished twice
But it never made this patriarchy redeeming
Divorcing the Freudian sense
Women aren’t meant to be buildings
Housing, and healing

The exploitation superseding
a clause of symbiotic exchange
surreptitiously written in the cracks of
the linoleum peeling

You no longer have the desire to copulate with your building
you’d rather manipulate her into modern slavery
because fucking her is a lot less enticing
attraction lost with heritage mislabeling this dynamic
as traditional work ethic.

Who’s really the one fleeing?

Hope was built on the notice to terminate
Desperately scribbled through dissent
the only constant
-v a c a n c y-
Left in every one of your sentiments

Terminating a lease has never been so easy
When your foundation is unsafe
And was nothing but frustration and poor heating
It’s easy to escape-
A building that crumbled so long ago

The pattern is already repeating
And I just hope that;
Those in line
To become your passive income
Don’t sign the lease without reading
And become your new found
Condemned building.

When the ground cracks beneath us, when
Ruthless tides tear us limb from limb,
Would you scour the great unknown in
Search of a familiar face? Would you
Find my open arms and take
Shelter in them once more?

In this barren eternity, with no one
Left to hurt and nothing
Left to break, would you
Scrub me clean of any
Trace of sin? Would you bathe me
In forgiveness and kiss my lying lips?

Once I am free and you are pure
In death, would you love me again?

She spewed love like a geyser,
But she licked the baby’s food
So I pushed her away.
She pawed at her ball, eager
Puppy dog eyes in old age,
But my exhaustion won.
We’ll play tomorrow, I thought,
But her eyes never opened.
And now I’d give anything
To go back to that night.

One hundred or so starling
Carrying one hundred or so stars
Upon their thick black bodies-

Each its own dark and starry milky way-

Appear to be having some serious
Yet harmonious squabble
In the grapple of a tree

Like Congress claims to do, moreover

Like they ought to, though
Clearly here, being far more glorious
And worthy of praise

It is as if I am floating,
maybe in a small boat
meandering past banyan roots
and floating rocks,
or like a kite in the sky,
evading zapping bolts.
Sometimes there are huge bumps,
heart stopping drops,
long periods of ennui or
maybe sleep. Time is
real or not, mostly, I think, not.
I look ahead on the road
and try to peer beyond
the fog, the signs, bright
red neon say
Today, Tomorrow,
and Maybe just as
the fog closes in.
I walk, wondering how
I got here, and had there
been a boat, or a kite?

Elites have
vaccines, links to an Instagram,
bins for skulls,
food, water, and shelter.

I was arrested for the creation of a lasting paradigm
which was renamed flesh magic.
The body recognized
milk’s temperature.

How much they like
counting coup
on sun-sprawled
tech moguls.

There are echoes of her magnificent dirty tricks.
The woman shapes
guards for
the oil wells,

tosses grenades into a population of elk,
disturbing trees
glowing with
relentless civilizing.

Sounds bruise my ears.
They sting, and they’re much too loud.
Locker doors slam closed, conversations I’m never invited to reverberate on the old walls, and
dirty floors
The sounds never end
Until today.

The school is extra noisy, buzzing with anticipation of the upcoming summer break.
I just want to get out of here.
I push through groups of people
Talking
Talking
Talking
Maybe about me.

The summer sun burns my skin,
Glimmering in its rays
A shard of glass—maybe something that used to be a mirror sits quietly in the grass
Nothing beautiful lies within its reflection,
But the broken glass outshines the image

Perhaps the sun is a friend I didn’t know that I needed
He won’t always be here,
He can’t stay.

When nightime fold over me,
I suppose it will just be the patient stars and I.
The stars might whisper,
And I might whisper back.
Finally a sound I enjoy to hear.

When an addict dies,
You mourn two beings.

The person before the addiction
And the person you learned to love from
a safe distance.

And in the event of their passing,
Your heart breaks twice,
Your mind is confused on who to grieve the
most.

Do I grieve what could have been,
Or what had been?