scars

void

I wanted to write tonight, to pull from the void an expression of the emptiness in me right now and tell you how I feel, to say something that mattered, that might make a difference, and change this moment for both of us; the problem is... the void is just that, and all I have...

Musings From The Porch: The Storm & The Vigil

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!” - Hunter S. Thompson A year ago I wrote...

Fortress

It is the quiet settled on me that weighs the most, sharp and unbearable, a work of fire destroying the soul; there is no hell like this one, no furious torment to match it, but neither is there anything like the salvation that comes of solitude.

how the heart dies

You offered it, the hope I held on to, this sense of security and meaning, without my asking, without my wanting-- I reached for it, for what it meant, because you offered, because it mattered; but what I grasped was emptiness, lonely and cold-- abandoned after so many promises, so many offers; silence and waiting...

For That Second

For that second you loved me, that second of hope, for that moment of light when I was not alone, for that touch of forever washed away by this pain, for that second you loved me... ...I'd do anything. Inspired tonight by a piece of music that made me reminisce.... 'For That Second' by Rob...

Heartless

He pulled skin and muscle aside, his fingers finding the bone beneath as they tore their way through flesh. Working his fingers between the tight spaces, tendons and cartilage popped and snapped as it released from the ribs, which in turn creaked and groaned before finally breaking. He could feel the bone bend and fracture,...

Cutting Away

How much more of me has to die before you stop cutting away pieces of my soul?

Prisoner

Detached resonance voices a tomorrow lost in yesterday, and solitude, in its comfort, is nothing more than a prison of hope.

Untitled

It is the end of summer and thus the light dies; it is the end of ever, comes eternal night. A rebellion of being in a moment of faith, a question of answers and creator replaced; the worry of breathing when the air is this cold, when silence of chaos and its order unfolds. The...