Life is like a sharp stick, It pieces right through the intended target.

My ex correlates in that way—to life.

His intended target was my heart....

When the sun goes down

And the moon comes up…

There’s one thing that keeps them up

…and it’s the threat of tomorrow—of failure.

It ignites the past they’re ashamed of…

Hour before dawn, lying awake in the somber silence.

Taking consequence for their erratic actions…

And when the sun rises in the morning….

They waste the day dreading morrow

and regretting the unretrievable past....

Insomnia keeps me up at night, my brain stuck on drivel twenty-four seven.

Every blink taken is like a crack in the window that is my mind.

Letting in the cool breeze of sleep,

Right before it’s disrupted by the heavy rain.

It downpours on me all at once

There’s no breaks, no stops, no nothings in between.

But insomnia my friend, you aren’t always bad.

You keep away the night terrors and the ...

I’d never thought the day would come.

Where I’m visiting your grave,

Instead of your home.

You left me alone, without a farewell.

You stripped the color from my world,

The days long and bleak.

Perhaps I could have done something to help.

But, I haven’t a clue what.

Your fate was sealed the day you were born.

The memories you left behind,

Are all that keeps me motivated.

The stories and lau...

Rain was expected today.

A blown out engine wasn’t.

I swiped my umbrella up on the way out.

At the bus stop is a lady.

Her hair peppered and face expressionless.

I notice the tremble in the woman’s silhouette.

drenched silhouette.

I watch the heavy rain fall over top of her.

I step closer and bring my hand out.

covering us both.

she remains deathly still, without a hint of gratitude

To her the...

A poet is only as good as their definition of poetry.

A poet could poem a lyric from nothing at all

nonsensical, definition of poetry that is

A poet could come up with a rhyme in no time

iteration, shows the poets true dedication

A poet is only as good as their definition of poetry...

I trudged along this torturous path my father set out for us to take. It was a cool enough April afternoon. The only thing that kept me from turning back was my father’s persistent praises, and the cabin that’s waiting for me less than 30 feet away.

The wooded home finally appeared in my line of vision.

The rich mahogany wood of the walls and the ivy vines that climbed them astonished me.

...

What’s that outside my window?

It doesn’t appear alive.

A swarm of flies surrounds it,

There is no gleam in its eyes.

Alas I see it leaving,

I’d surely like a friend.

I watched the figure dissipate,

As I heard a knock knock knocking on my door....

A secret was told,

I knew trusting you was safe

Truly my mistake....

My day started off perfect. The sun was shining its sparkly rays into my bedroom through the closed blinds. The rainstorm that lasted for an entire week had finally passed. I scooted off of my mattress and shuffled to my kitchen. I make a cup of ice coffee and scoop up the novel I’m currently reading. I sit on my poarch swing on my back patio, and crack open the book. I curse the character for the...