

Loss
I lost a piece of myself today.
I’m not sure if it was integral,
but it’s gone and will never come back.
I’m lighter and simpler,
but also less of a person.
I have a little less love,
a little less purpose.
And one day in the future
there will be a day when I have nothing left
and the weariness will be too much,
and that day will be my death.
My Most Recent Death
There’s no suicide
that can kill me worse
than what’s already been done.
My heart has turned to dust
and blown away in the winter wind
and I’m left with barren branches,
sharp, dark, and twisted,
gnarled black arms and legs,
insides infested
with the vermin of loneliness
feasting on whatever organs they can find.
I’ve fallen
and have very little bone or muscle left.
I’m just waiting for the flames of the incinerator
to torch whatever’s left,
leaving only ashes
and maybe a single ember
ready to ignite some sort of rebirth.
One Day
One day I’ll stop writing
these depressed jumbles of words.
One day I’ll be back to
suns and moons,
stars sprinkled across the purple night,
fields of yellow daffodils,
flowers licking the fog and mist
with thin petals,
grass lapping up the dewdrops,
children chasing fireflies
in the still summer night
when the crickets hum
and the air caresses
like a warm mother.
One day that’s not today.
One day if I live so long.
One day when the sun shines
just a little brighter.
The Accidental Phoenix
What do you do when you’re 46, alone, and lonely? That’s what I asked myself as I stood at the cliff edge looking down. The water was so beautiful, shimmering blue and green as it danced around rocks and sprinted under bridges. The town was not far away, a survivor of many floods, living through countless deaths and rebirths. I lifted a foot and prepared to leap, closing my eyes to this life. I remembered my children and turned away from the cliff edge.
That’s when a rock gave underneath my left foot and I slipped. I felt myself sliding down the rock face and it seemed to take hours, and there was nothing for me to grab ahold of. I saw all of my exes, wives and lovers. Dead relatives and living ones. My children’s faces. I saw the drunken nights in bars pleading with women who didn’t want me. I saw the sober nights alone in my bed, on my couch. I saw the intermittent nights where I found love, or at least companionship, and I saw God. He had blonde hair and glasses and was just watching me as I slipped off the last sliver of slanted rock.
I plummeted like a baby bird pushed out of its nest too soon. I saw rock and sky, trees and buildings, rock and sky, and then the hit. Pain shot through me like a violent tornado of hammer smashes. Red and black and loud like a million canons. My scream was silence and my vision was black followed by the bright light of a blazing star. The light engulfed every part of my being, conscious and subconscious, reality and dreams.
I was in the sand. I expected to be bruised and battered but I was in perfect condition, wet and naked. I saw the impression of flames around me for a split second but they disappeared. People were looking at me funny. Parents were hiding their children’s eyes as they walked past. I stood and saw muscles gleaming in the sunlight. I needed clothes.
I walked into town, my bare feet stepping on hard cobblestones, and a policeman approached. His face was hard concrete. “What sort of stunt is this?” he asked. “Are you one of them leftist commie nudists or somethin? You can go back to your commune after you pay your fine and serve your jail time.”
“I… I fell,” I said, confused and frightened. I was suddenly surrounded by heat and orange and yellow light. I instinctually shot up into the sky, a trail of flame behind me, and I became a bird with feathers of fire. I flew until I hit the atmosphere, and shot through, burning my way into space.
It was a dark and lonely place, but it was beautiful. I could see the planets, impossibly large celestial shapes. I was in a place of vast emptiness and spinning things. I shot past them into a universe of massive, amoebic light and color. I flew until I found new worlds, new spheres of water and land. I only needed to choose one to call home.
Fear
My fear of death
is going to kill me.
My fear of the future.
is going to destroy it.
My children are the thread
I hang on by.
I don’t want to be here
but I keep struggling,
keep pushing
through the swamp murk,
the thick mud
streaked with blood.
There is no reason
but I keep going,
hoping that one day
there might be,
before the ever advancing
ghost of death,
my ghost,
my dark shadow,
finds me.
Running
Is this finally it?
The day I dust off the debris,
pick myself up
enough to take a step
and another.
Start walking
towards the haze and fog,
listen to the steamboats
moan in the mist.
Is this the day
I speed to a jog?
Breathing heavily,
lungs struggling
to take in polluted air.
And then tomorrow
I’ll run,
legs like lightning,
wind rushing past
as I burn my way
towards the future.
Empty Chair
I’m waiting
for lunch to be served
with an empty chair
looking back at me;
the nothingness
is my date today.
It watches me
with empty eyes,
facing me constantly,
ignoring me
and my shattered dreams.
I wonder
if someone will land there
one day.
Will it be my mirror image?
My soul mate,
my other half,
who thinks the same,
walks and talks the same,
enjoys the same things.
Will it be a one night stand?
Who graces my bed
for a night
and disappears
like the moon and stars.
Or will the chair remain empty?
My date for years to come
until I’m finally betrothed
to death.
FML
Fuck you.
Fuck your mom, your dad, your grandma and your grandpa and all your fucking ancestors.
Fuck all those guys with hot girlfriends.
Fuck their hot girlfriends and their wives.
Fuck whores.
Fuck strippers, fuck porn stars, fuck YouTube personalities and TikTok dancers.
Fuck actors and actresses, fuck musicians, fuck rappers, fuck rock stars, fuck writers, fuck poets, fuck spoken word artists.
Fuck artists.
Fuck literary magazines, fuck newspapers, fuck the internet.
Fuck republicans, fuck democrats, fuck independents.
Fuck communists and anarchists.
Fuck racists, fuck nazis, fuck skinheads, fuck the KKK.
Fuck sexists and homophobes and bigots.
Fuck politicians, fuck guns, fuck the fucking NRA.
Fuck atomic bombs and jet fighters.
Fuck Christmas, fuck New Years, fuck Easter, fuck Columbus Day, fuck National We Won a War Day.
Fuck bunnies, fuck kittens, fuck puppies.
Fuck those guys who stand at the urinal next to you and try to talk to you while you’re taking a fucking piss.
Fuck slow drivers, fuck fast drivers.
Fuck everybody and everything.
Fuck you and the fucking horse you rode in on.
Exhausted
I’ve stopped loving.
I’ve stopped caring
about the fallout,
the burning debris
that will flash out
from the explosions.
I’ve stopped loving.
I’ve stopped living.
I’ve stopped caring
about shadows
and stars and moons
and suns and dreams.
I’ve stopped dreaming.
I’m numb
and going through motions,
carried on a stretcher
into the war zone
to a burning hospital
wracked by bombs
and artillery shells.
I’ve stopped writing.
I’ve stopped caring.
I’ve stopped loving.