a ripple
in the darkness
lavender waves
smoky
ethereal
my fingers yearn
to trail through
the fabric of
creation
to find that
spark in the
embers of
a sullen soul

i sink into
my hollow pulse
aware always
my heart beats
itself to death
each moment spent
in the fugue
is another closer
to a cardboard box
and an absence
unfelt

the fucking words
don’t do what
they are supposed to
this cold ball
rests beneath my
indifferent uvula
every single thing
i write is wrong
wrongwrongwrong

what use is a
sad little cunt
who can’t even
bleed poetically

just an olive
sitting alone
on the press
all too cognizant
of every ounce
squeezed out
mashed to paste
in a relentlessness
of tepid boredom