I cannot manage the issue at hand
my sheets are dampbut that chill is nothingcompared tothe specters of memoryand delusions grantedby the unintelligible desireI must cut this poem shortand close my eyesand try to sleepbefore grieftakes me over
“Fire is dangerous” so…
I’ll keep my socks onin my bedtonightbecause it’s coldand gas is expensiveand there aretoo many housesfor us allto sleep together
Why do your eyes come to mind
in times of solemn reverie?We found solace in our sorrows,but we could not share.We opened old wounds,and cut new ones.Everything red-hotor ice-cold.Like your lipsand your eyes.
It hurts too much to write right now
I’ve been trying so hard to live without painbut the instantaneous dissipationof the only words I could mutterhas left the room empty.The reverberations of your footstepshave dissolved into the infinite,leaving mecold, trembling, and alone.
In the midst of
A sound paradox (at wit’s end)
I’ll make you hotAs I turn coldI’ll open you upAnd then I’ll foldI’ll tie you downAs I fly freeI won’t leaveBut let me beI’ll give you allBut relinquish nothingI won’t speakBut I’ll tell you somethingI’ll tell the truthBut don’t believe meJust let me be aloneAnd never leave meI can’t support youBut I’ll be your crutchBecause […]
“As long as philosophy has to make its prime business the provision of safeguards against error, truth will be bound to have its martyrs.”
Too many questions, not enough answers
My pen is dry—literally.I try to scour up enough ink to mark notes down during class. Change my penmanship. Cursive, loopy letters turn symbolic.Can symbols be symbolic or do we have to make it a metaphor? The truth is:I just haven’t been feeling very poetic lately. Maybe it’s the weather.It’s fucking cold and I’malways runningoutside […]
