There's a belle in hell's deli serving wry on rye
which I assault with salt and try to catch her eye
just one bite
one glimpse
perhaps a little more
than a pinch

There is a sense of hell here in my aching cerebellum,
the tide will start to swell in, but I've not the art to tell him
that it's ending and it's ending
and its ending isn't quite what we supposed.

The only doubt, a niggler too
gnawing away my disposition
were it true;
why did it take such time
for me to realize
there was never anything to be afraid of
but disguise.

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"Enough! There will be time to fight after we beat the glowy orb that lives near hell!"

-Wigu

I always appreciated your courage to offend me to my face. The way you prodded old wounds for leverage when your alliances failed you. Between the two of us you are the most convicted, and the weakest. I don’t believe what you believe, but I don’t need how you need.

If I fall, it is because I am free to.

Every night it’s the same, call it clouds before rain ( Read more... )

Seems daft that we’d all be so taken aback
by something so common or matter of fact
as an embolism or cancer or first heart attack.

In a past life I starved all alone on a beach
with no back up, no way out, no hope
for six weeks.

My walls are always the wrong colour. My desk, covered with clutter. And every piece of clothing has a hole I haven’t fixed.

This is the vacuum time; the voided day. If the car doesn’t start, I’ll sigh, and I’ll stay.

A hypothesis that captures my life is this: the indescribably bland intervals between stale cigarettes and frustrated dreams. The pause after the cursing after the stubbing of a toe. Those brief moments while the pain fades away; the ones in which you don’t put your foot down, not yet.

Not yet.