There comes a point
When all you want is
The bad feeling to stop
Where you’ll do nearly anything
Anything to turn off
Did you think my love had died?
I need not a response—
Beyond the breaking point
I took a look around
There’s a pomegranate tree
And flowers laid to rest
We’re connected you know
By some universal thread
Like a bad dream
You can’t escape, or a
Good one
You’d do anything to fall back into
And with some microscopic
Interdimensional pair of shears
Cut
Cut
Cut
yourself free
What a bore it is
To see yourself
Reflected in the eye
Of another’s
Lonesome smile
Where you can see
The charade
Designed like a maze
Where nobody gets out
And everyone’s stuck—
Feeling most unwell
With it I feel
Something
Without it
I feel Something
It is I as I is it
And can be many things
A pebble in the shoe
A headache after dark
A dismal brackish thing
That I wonder if it feels
Something without me?
It’s probably for the best
To leave it alone.
Her love
Like a phantom
Continues to be
A Footnote
On this broken
Chandelier
Of a story
For the underground
For every bad breath morning
For every kitty litter night
The only thing I’d change
was the fabric softener,
which still lingers
like her kiss
in my daydream eyes
Where the message is pure
as fresh cut grass
The smell of sage and
Himalayan Shilajit
Words Of An Average White Male 