art, poetry

Bouquets

I keep on trying to say
goodbye
but flowers
won’t stop blooming between
my teeth,

So I’ve found myself
a florist
who carries no pieces
of you.

Now
I don’t need the bars
across my bedroom
windows,

Nor take care
not to step on
shattered ego.

And she
doesn’t hold her broken heart
to my throat

Or
chase happiness
down freeways.

Instead,
she dances to jazz
and braids my flowers
into her hair,
believing
that they grew
for her.

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poetry

Ocean

I have the timbre of
the ocean
in my bones,

And,

As she consumes me,
my lover says
that she can still taste
the salt on my skin.

I leap into the sea
to escape –
her,
life,
the phantom weight
of old lovers,

And the echoes
beneath the surface
are almost loud enough,
to block out

Her voice,
so full of the big city –
a shrill treble,
backed by synth-pop and alleyway screams.

I watch as she,
my albatross,
dives
squawking for me to stay,

But the sea’s hum
has me chasing rogue waves
into the deep,

And I
don’t drown,
because,

I

Have the timbre
of the ocean
in my bones.

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art

The Past

i feel ambivalence towards a lot of things in life, but i think my past is what i wonder about most. sure, i wouldn’t be who i am today without key elements of that, but has it really been worth the travail? it’s not like i’ve “arrived” at some meaningful sense of completeness or accomplishment.

if anything, i’m a ghost of my former self. with each passing day, bits of me fall off and get left behind. it’s a maudlin stagger of unepic proportions, and i’m headed towards whatever the hell kind of finish line is fated for me. until then, i’m just a zombie who used to worship another zombie.

i’m just an unformed thing.

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