I told myself that I was more together
But all this time I’ve just been damaged
And every time I pulled away
I claimed was so as not to end up bandaged,
Not realizing that only pain
Could be the reason that I sit here ravaged
By a fear that will not go away
Of the loneliness I’ve barely managed.

Weak Links

So many broken links
In one long endless chain;
Everybody points, but nobody thinks
That they might share the blame.
They want to dub a “weakest”
So that it will be okay
And the chain at last will be the best
With one link thrown away.
But such chains aren’t made of people,
So easily dismissed:
They’re linked by actions and their ripples;
Made brittle by our emptiness.


I wonder all the time
If I might be for you
What I always wanted there for me:
The understanding ear, the equal player;
A soul to brush yours, and paint it green.

To be a ship passing in the night
And the lighthouse that guides yours home;
I wonder all the time
If I might make a better you,
If I could only make you feel you’re not alone.


Dressed in the tatters
Only life can know;
Waiting on a ferry
Only death can row.
The water’s still,
But creeping laughter;
Black eyes look up
Drinking disaster,
Gauging lives:
“What chances passed her?”
“Was she awful? Kind?”
“Does it matter?
All find their way
To our master.”
Unspoken words
Whisper, clamor
Find their way
To unease the manner;
Broken souls
Of broken lives,
Haunted by
Unbroken ties
Never severed,
Just left behind;
Abandoned to
The reckless tide
Of a river kept
For broken souls
To cross, or to
Beneath be pulled.

Passing Ships

My soul was cracked and broken
With no light that I could see
But I was blinded when you came in
And opened yours to me.

I had never really seen you;
I think that no one really did.
You preferred to live your life alone
With this treasure that you hid.

But you were there when you were needed
And all my thoughts had been of doom
And I still miss the moment
When your presence filled the room.

A Crown of Pyrite Wrought

They were arguing again.
How many of the neighbors hear?
My door is locked, but I can see it
When looking through the keyhole:
Same old bullshit.
Why do they even bother?
Getting up in the morning;
Painting on a smile…
At least while there’s daylight.
But when the night comes —
Lo and behold!
There’s monsters under the beds
And they’re children just like us
But pretending not to be
And it’s ripping us apart.
‘Cause they’re all high and mighty —
Except when they are not:
They play as Gods to our humanity
And in the middle we are caught
As they vie for their supremacy;
For a crown of pyrite wrought.