This place I never meant to find,

this time I never meant to be in,

holds me against my will

and I linger longer than a moment

in years gone past and lost;

it’s all I can do to not reach out,

to stretch out from the lonely dark

with fingers broken and bruised

from clawing at this prison of hope,

to see if you, if any part of you that

isn’t only memory now might be there–

but I know, to do so would be my folly,

and finding again the deafening roar

of an anger I’m not sure I deserve

I’d only retreat, defeated again by

the reality that is me,

the reality you created for me.

There was a time, a moment

when light and color–when you–washed away

all the greying shadow I cast in the world,

and melody takes me there far too often,

more than I’d like to admit,

but now…. now there is only me

and memory, thunderous and vibrant,

and painful, not for what it is,

but for what it no longer isn’t;

and this echoing silence fueled now

by rage and hate and the blame of

love misunderstood and cast aside

for lies that were never told

is all that remains of a forgiveness

that was asked for and offered

and then stripped away before it could breathe.

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–


after so many promises,

so many offers;

silence and waiting

are what I have now,

what I deserve,

for what I am

and am not,

the emptiness widening

and pain…

so much pain…

and this hope now

falters and fades,

and so must I.


It is in those quiet,
passing moments,
when life is its most
sudden and fleeting,
awash in the afterglow
of what has been and
what is yet to be,
when silent anticipation
collides with memory
that I lose myself to you,
thankful for all that we are not,
if only because
it is yet to be discovered.

Of Rage

It tears at me from the inside,
like claws and teeth shredding
their way through my ribs and skull,
seeking freedom from their restraints,
a great beast given over to primal urges,
and I find myself wanting to let it;
a fired blood feeds the desire
to roar and forget, to surrender
to anger and passion, to let pain
and hate rend flesh and break bone,
and to drink deep from the cup of rage,
even as I know it will not sate this thirst.
But I thirst, and I hunger,
and in silence, alone, I must endure.


and embrace
the hereafter;

and escape
a world without laughter

in silence it ends,
the world I created,
and I have become
the thing I have hated

and now,
only now,
is mine for the taking

and I’m asking
for freedom
from a soul that is breaking