some stuff i wrote this morning on the train:
it's that flower you received on the best day you ever had.
you pressed it into a book to try and savor the memory but
it sweetened and became rotten.
it's the way you lay on your stomach in the grass, playing
with little dandelions and making wishes on seeds, until
a colony of ants started crawling along your spine.
it's the folded-down corners and creased spine of a book
you've read so many times, but no matter how often
you peruse it's pages, the fairytale never comes true.
fuck it. luck is just another word for choices and consequences,
for reasons and regrets, and hey kid,you've got to take risks
sometimes, otherwise how can you really say you're alive?
Promise To a Lost Cause
early morning, rattling train
another gray and rainy day
stuck in a castle tower and
unable to say what i want to say
all i've got is this labored breath
and this terrifying intensity
if you need more than honest feeling
i'm not sure what it could be
can't bring the drawbridge down
can't turn ocean into ground
all i can really offer is:
if you want me, i'll stick around.