Tuesday, February 16, 2016

collecting dust


we should of been two photos
torn right out of a modern magazine,

but we felt like old 1950s 
portraits collecting dust. 
and
when you talked to others
it felt like you were snapping 
fresh iphone pictures you would delete 
the next morning. 

i liked that we were different 

Thursday, February 4, 2016

i still think about that sometimes (solstice's prompt)



my dad had too many books
about happiness in his closet.

i didn't understand.

if he wanted
to be happy,
he should of read books
that made him happy.
(he really liked love stories)

but instead,
he read books about happiness.
because he thought
they would make him happy.

i still think about that sometimes...



12:01 AM

say your last word
burn your last match
smoke the last cigarette

the clock reads 12:01
and ive been awake a lifetime

my eyes are tired
the room is red
i look at my hands
and notice their tread

i allow my love
to finally
die

my blue bucket of gold

my blue buckets of gold
too full to get water
anywhere it needs it,

taking more than it gives,
but more than it realizes

living its entire life,
quivering at the feeling

that there is a barn out back
cold and uninviting, 
occupied by us
waiting,
for the sun to come out
bathing,
the world in its light
changing.

if we are being honest...



when you go...



the truth is...