you are in these bones, but they are not you.

  • Acknowledgments

    Acknowledgments

    I witness the slaughter of his posture, the way upright tears him apart inside. He’s still walking, the yoke of every world he refuses to fail dragging behind him, each footfall driving through the gravity sucking at his steps. I witness the exhaustion when he stops just long enough to breathe, I witness the resignation Read more

  • what i mean when i say “agony”

    what i mean when i say “agony”

    I use the word as a catchall, a broad arm-sweep of the aggregate on the counter, clogging my brains. It’s a massive static wall of relentless noise: sometimes it’s a benign sound, a pulsing energy that amplifies the light around it. Alternately, and most often when being referred to as “agony,” it is a towering Read more

  • bitchy nights

    bitchy nights

    The agony is unfocused, I just know I want to carve into it, dig and drag my fingers, these knives, shards of mirrored glass down its sides. I just know I want to scream and freeze it in the frame I will eventually break over someone’s face. I am too well grounded these days. I Read more

  • It’s probably definitely masochism.

    It’s probably definitely masochism.

    Sitting on a low wall swinging my feet into the night watching you eat your own heart. Been dragging on this cigarette for a few years while you’ve been chewing. I’d suck your fingers clean if I could stand the feeling of you anywhere near me, but I’m a fifty gallon drum of busted glass Read more

  • “You’re a powerful witch.”

    “You’re a powerful witch.”

    The hum in my bones tells you all you need to know about the mountains I’ve torn down, the blood I’ve boiled to ash. You can’t hear the power coiled on my tongue but the shiver up your spine buries itself in your mind every time you get too close. I’m smiling and everything feels Read more

  • mumbling again.

    mumbling again.

    Got it up by the throat where everything feels like it’s hanging from that last thread on the hook. I close my fists against this press, the heat and sweat, and miss the emptiness. I miss the nothing: it’s more than you give me, it’s less than I bring. Incomplete thoughts and half grown feelings, Read more

let me sow that i may reap