Speaks Loudest.

So much for words when
only actions hold any truth;
resemblances of the ideas
we can’t form into coherent
thoughts past our lips, instead
focusing on silence and the
act of distance to showcase
feelings – providing time to
play the enemy, and for our
memories to fall apart under
pressure, as though actions
aren’t in fact confrontation,
nestled on the lips of a lie.

The gamble.

I played my final hand,
knowing the odds against
my favor, as all I needed
was the queen of hearts
nestled deeply behind the
blue print found in your
hand – as I waited patiently
for you to lay your cards on
the table, and yet instead of
taking all that was left of me,
you got up, silently walking
away, taking your cards and
my queen of heart with you.

Tragedy of Life.

I lived long enough to see
myself become the villain
in my own narrative; once
the hero, fighting tragedy
at the hands of a happily
ever after, only to lose sight
of my fights, while taking a
bitter sword against myself –
twice for the blushes, once
for a lie. Burning morals
like bridges against those
non believers, reciting lies
with a sharp tongue to view
chances past my cause; left
to put together pieces of my
own destruction with only a
realization that I’ve become
my own target, left to fight.


It was only the silence
returning, creeping in
through the cracks with
a resilience in latitude
towards the tremors of
heartache and looming
debris; twice crossing
stages of change and
promises subdued with
the helping hands of
another, melting down
with the cries of rain.


she had become broken
fragments of hope and
insecurities, reflecting off
the glass of whiskey and
rocks – promising herself
she was always the fighter,
staying rooted in her desires,
yet, with every passing sun
she was breaking off more
pieces of logic and reason,
trailing shards of debris and
rubble in her wake, with only
bits of glass left distressed
without a reflection to hold.

Four in the Morning.

After days on end, searching for an
explanation to the blue pen marks
at my whim, I have found solace
in the only truth at my disposal –
I am exhausted from missing you.
Your name has become synonymous
with silence, so I shout either out
towards the heavens, hoping for
three sparks of lightning, perhaps a
lone thunderstorm following the rain,
dropping down in smiles and buckets,
washing away memories drenched
in debris, so I can write soundly in
the midst of my blue inked dreams.


Just when the sun thought
she would never love again,
the world as she knew it
shifted, rotated, turning
everything right side up,
and she could still see
mountains, valleys and
lakes, and her hidden smile
returned with the memory
of the blush of the clouds –
before, she was only loving
with half her heart on the
world, and finally she could
open herself up, to love again.


Last night you almost brought
me to tears – the only one
capable of such a feat with
the complete absence of words
floating around my room in the
hours between two and the moon.
Just tell me it was never real,
lie if you must, because I’m
finding it harder and harder to
decipher what truth even means,
let alone where you stand with it.
Say what you will, for no matter,
there is a realness in your words
that will in truth, bring the tears.


with the cooling final
days of summer, I took
to my match and pen to
ignite my first and only
bonfire of the season;
tearing apart the wooden
foundations of my past
one wall at a time and
ripping out the faded love
letters of my journal to
set aflame. they burnt in
a golden haze past the
hours of the moon, never
to see the daylight again.


with a push to the winds
you are pushing back,
fighting for the control
I never once let you have;
becoming a master in a
game built for two, being
played by us three, and
I am at a loss as to what
the rules are anymore.
all I am capable of doing
is to keep pushing, hoping
that you’ll continue to push
back, and to fear the day
when you no longer do.