Pathetic day to be alive for the old, ungrateful child.

I want your kindness.

And I want your love. 

My Sunday morning

It's not funny anymore

The way I think you're smiling.

All this mess that's piling

Up to my nose

In this house

Has impeccable timing.

Me and Cat keep watch 

For an unexpected sighting

Of someone like you.

(It won't really be you)

(We know)

Cat is a good friend 

He knows its hard to blend

In, and flow through, 

Like we're all the same.

Because sadness stands out 

As pointless as a bout 

Of heedless giggling

To yourself

On your own 

Letters again

Dear God
These tricks You play only make me sad. How is it that You love me?
Get me out if it's only going to be me running in circles. Do I now have the epiphany of being one of the exalted few who weep for sorrows all their life that only bring them closer to You?
I'm bad at this. Please forgive me.

Just a little longer.

 We have held on and held each other through the years in between. There are days when I wish I could go back to a warm summer night where the moon was gold... But I choose to stay here. Here is real.
 No later than sooner, I want our fat chunk of syrupy, shiny happy to make the wait look like pebbles that we'd toss in a river in Spain or leave on an Asian beach for the waves to wash away. I want what is ours and I want it no different because I am a piece of him and he is mine. We are not children playing with love and hurt has been plenty. Let there be no games before we die.   

Demon monkeys

So we stop sharing bread
When it storms and hails
And the fields give nothing
While ships drown their sails.
We make up new worlds,
And ride our own trains.
At night we dream alone;
Make up new last names.
We play and we dance,
In a cursed, lonesome trance
And bear each other on.

Unwanted

I could be a diamond
I could be a star
I could speak elven tongue
Or know tales from afar
A healer from the heavens
A sorcerer from the dark
A resurrected Greek goddess
Hell, Joan of arc
I could sing and dance
Look pretty, play the harp
But what if I brought
No hope nor spark
Of love or want
Nor leave a mark
Or trace on you
Of me?
I could just be
A stone or a tree

And you wouldn't know