desolate.
My words weren’t enough
so I stopped speaking them,
allowing them to burn at
the corners and crumble
in their own ashes, with
embers to chant past the
hurt and confusion, while
placing all bets on time
with only chance to spare.
falling apart
Insight Two.
my heart beats
so loudly when
you’re near that
I almost didn’t
hear you say
that for me,
there’ll never
be a second
chance; it was
like trying to
revitalize the
butterflies, only
to let them drown.
Eighteen.
You listened
to so and so,
say yadda-yah
about doubts
and fears you’d
never once had
before; only this
time they were
miraculously true,
we were wrong,
yet only because
it was easier.
And if that’s
your kind of game,
I guess it’s a
good thing
I’m no longer
invited to play.
Frayed.
We loved in the way
we thought each other
wanted to be loved –
trying to frame the
torn edges of one
another into moldings
to be put on display.
Only being watched
as we were tumbled,
falling strands away.
Storylines in Verse 