They had me at goodbye.

They had me at goodbye

as they always seemed to die

slow like a rose

one day jubilant and alive

then like sleep goes the week

and it’s noticed that the rose

has died. But see, I kept them there

all wilted and decayed

brown and crumpled I’d debate

taking them to the trash

throwing them away, though

a rose in its youth is beautiful

so too is a rose left to dry.

So I pressed them between pages

and drew a pretty picture

poured ink from my memory

so that even in death

they’d remain


Saying Goodbye.

It’s been like beating a dead horse.

From day one, it just wasn’t there.

But we often emote like light through a diamond.

We listen to fortune tellers.

And cosplay for our own reasons.

But bloody knuckles aren’t more than bloody knuckles.

I’ll admit, saying goodbye was never my strong suit.

So for the sake of getting shit done.

The horse, long since buried.

I’ll say hello one more time.


And now I’m saying goodbye.