Your bleeding ink splits me soft, a feather, a cold a night, a sweat. Write me a letter, words torn, unraveling to forget, tears worn flying into a white page where we once met.

I see
I hear
I feel
Nothing.

I feel
I hear
I see
A black hole.

Slowly

The body, slowly breathing, slowly breaking, slowly. It caves inward into bones, dust, worms, rust. Fine lines to frowns. Laugh lines to crowns. Lost and slowly breaking, slowly.

Your jewels glimmer in the dust
Through the ashes of light dancing in a dash

Your smoke blazes through storms
Through the hazes of words lost in a maze

Rock Me

Do you love me? Love in the way I feel? Will you protect me and you from harm? From losing charm? Wrap me in your arm? Wrap me in your arm like a child, like a baby, your baby rocking slowly to a song...? Rocking me into a storm? A stranger to you. A name. A face. A place to rock me into a storm.

The delusions of youth slip away slip away dripping like a dog's wet tongue into yesterdays months soggy soot.

Table Talk

"I wonder what dying is like..." she said with intention of reaction, an attention she felt was deserved yet leaking out the sides and pouring down the garbage filled gutter, the love rotting drain.
"I don't think its like anything, really.", He mumbled and sighed, fidgeting, uncomfortable and unsure of the tone in his lackluster voice, in monotonously re-hashing a conversation had with too many other sob stories and basket cases in the dirty rat race of a city. He looked down at the menu. She looked down too... biting hard on her protruding lip and welling up with tears the size of the globing droplets pacing down the window with a smeared candlelight reflection of their distant faces dripping off the rusted pane.
"Yeah, you're probably right", She uttered with a whimpering breath and once again bit down on her lip now turning a deeper and darker shade of rose. Breathless, he stared at her swollen lip and briefly imagined her hips before being seduced back by her sadness and his daring to care.
"Sometimes I think about it. I think about if I died what would happen to the girl I'm with. What things my family and friends would remember. I worry I could die without accomplishing my dreams." She intently listened as he spoke, unable to look him straight. Slouching and curling with hair embracing her face, she kept focused on the napkin below her, continuously folding it with her fingertips. The foggy glass of wine, the foaming beer, the flicker of fire atop melted wax, and the worn out wood where others had intertwined their hands like a puzzle waiting to snap apart were all the distractions she could handle. "But then I realize", he went on "death is probably just a black hole. Nothing. The end. So, there would be no reason or worry, no reason to care because you simply wouldn't be able to."
"Sounds kind of appealing..." She smirked with tears still on the edge of her glistening lid and fearing they'd fall into every part of their surroundings and pulling his head and heart into her crooked mind. "Getting rid of all your worries, all you care about... It sounds kind of appealing"she said.