And if my frozen heart should thaw,
I will be speechless, still in awe
of the things I did, of the things I saw,
that led me to love real and raw.

Hollow Earth

No matter their politics,
no matter their gods.
Few people are genuine;
most are just frauds.

Spouting their beliefs,
but the heart isn’t there.
Giving love a bad name,
fixed on insincere prayer.


trying to speak underwater
you’re the salt stinging my lungs
the tide throwing a tantrum
the sun resembling heaven’s gates


Eavesdropping on the crickets’ chirp,
dark of night now in full swing.
To what will tomorrow be giving birth?
I ask without them answering.

But it’s okay, I’m well aware
of how we reveal our cards these days.
I find I cannot blame them there
for being reserved when life’s a maze.


Now that the dust has settled
and is no longer hindering my sight,
now that I’m not inebriated
by the person I believed you were,
I’m steadily recovering my poise.

The energy I expended on you,
undeserved and foolish to an extreme,
would be enough to fill me with regret
if not for everything happens for a reason,
that tired yet cuttingly honest cliché.

And just because I haven’t found the reason
isn’t proof a reason doesn’t exist,
only that it’s still ahead of me somewhere,
calmly waiting to be spotted,
flowers on the side of a busy highway.

For you my soul was left exposed,
but you didn’t see what I’d hoped you would,
and the distance between us grew
until we came to the point of waving goodbye,
two specks on separate islands.

Today I’m certain: I don’t miss you at all.
I wish you the best, of course,
but tell me, who wouldn’t be relieved
when a poison that’s caused so much damage
finally exits their veins?


You can have all the stars
decorating the sleeping sky.
I’ll take the sliver of moon
and your hand inside mine.


Always the nightmare,
never the daydream.
Knees up to her hair,
an internal scream.

Eyes have been darting
from ceiling to window.
A cold figure standing
unwelcome on the lawn.

Through the fireplace
he sneaks his way in.
Down a curved hallway
to enter her bedchamber.

The heart is a beast
or a wonderful gem.
Circumstance waves its wand
recklessly, without thought.

Apart from this world,
bitterness takes root.
Flowers made of thorns
played as instruments.

Soft humming can be heard
from behind the door.
The key still in the lock,
avoiding suspicion.

The grass long bare,
the deed now done.
Eyes lay motionless,
back up and through.


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