when I sit by your grave,

doing the same thing

we always do,

it’s hard to feel anything

the reason why isn’t clear


-right across the highway

ignorant adolescents

play with sticks and balls…


I never question your motives



they called you a coward

and I wish I could hang them

since they deserve it

and you didn’t


the longer I wait

the more distant you are

until you fade completely


memories will always be

sweeter than the present



your words are as

fleeting as ash

falling on fingertips

fulfilling stereotypes

left and right

tears in disguise

leaving trails of lies

masks are more

common than faces

your eyes kindle desire

letters freshly brewed

…neurological brooding

destroying waste

untie the last lace

grasp onto life

while ear drums are pounding

you’re locked in this city

your touch is absent

the message was not sent

waiting for the last breath