most times: two horizontal buttresses,

arched and angled,

hanging above your heavy gaze and

sharpening it to a fine point to be hurled,

I am out of rhymes, I am out

Of poetic language, do not ask me to spin

Another gossamer-silver line from my tongue.

Sometimes I feel like the co-pilot in a falling plane

Meant to mindlessly soar across a barren plane

That was it, the end of the family’s true legacy

As they couldn’t prevent their fall deep into all of life’s entropy

Thanksgiving is coming

*Trigger Warning for self-harm

I pray to know myself

these feelings don’t belong

this love was never meant to be

(they are still whispering)

It starts out as a warm and pleasant feeling.

And love is kind enough to stay

Even when our hair grows grey.

…When I have nothing but Time.

I believe in the stars that I cannot see