Enano

There’s a poem in me today; I know it. There’s a poem about a smile which makes my chest ache and a corpse somewhere that barely resembles a body and a loss that I’ll never truly know. 

There’s a poem in me about a man that scares me and a nervous response that I regret each time it forces my face into a smile.

There are novels in me about lives unlived and restless staring at a blank sheet of paper as the stories fight amongst each other instead of preserving their selves.

There are worlds in me that you’ll never know and souls that I will never touch and lovers that will never meet without me. 

And yet I file away at the edges of the days until they are dull and blunt.

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Solitario

In this building of nurses insisting I press the bell and let them help, the panic attack plays through without witness.

A midnight delivery scares the birds out of the trees and into the sky; free and flying and soon they will be calm.

Another minute passes. Another moment closer to morning. Another cry down the hallway from a man who doesn’t know what morning is. 

Sin titulo

Lying here bleeding through a half-arsed dressing

Hoping tomorrow I might get hit by a truck.

Who the hell are you meant to tell this shit to.

Who are you meant to call in the middle of the night when it all feels too much, and you know you’ll just need the same words of comfort tomorrow, too.

I’ll make another joke about it that you won’t read into.

And I’ll laugh as I bleed into my sheets, because I’m just that pathetic. 

I’ll laugh at the notion that after it ends someone might think twice and learn a warning sign or two.