Saturday, April 4, 2015


Fall into this heart of mine
Fall into what's not there
It is then that I implode
Fold into myself an untidy mess
Cave into myself and no debris escapes
For it remains inside, fermenting
Turning cancerous unless I dig it out
Excavate the remains of me and air out
Clean up and rebuild the home of me

But then one can never tell if it's hope
Stupid hope or an attachment to the dirt
Sometimes feeling terrible feels good
Good enough to want it more
Good enough to feel justified
Bad, but not enough to be not good
If these words painted a picture
It would be shapes in the dark
The edges light, but not right

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