The briars grew as kingdoms slept

While widows spun and deftly crept

Amidst the silent-slumb’ring rows

Of frozen faces; dancing toes

In places even gods have wept.

None ’fore or since have e’er swept

Amidst this living tomb unkept.

Within the palace of the crows

The briars grew

Perhaps a hapless prince hath wept

O’er sweet princess shoes unstepped?

Forever longing? He ’lone knows.

Throughout this place no tread now goes,

Where would-be lovers might’ve leapt,

The briars grew.

the worst place i ever lived, i can not help but revisit

it is hard to get away from our old haunts

no matter how miserable isn’t it?

each time i show back up, everything is different

the rooms are uncomfortable

and when there, i never feel quite with it

i hate when i find myself in that awful place

the way it feels, the grief the loss, the blankness

in every familiar and yet unfamiliar face

the idea of being there brings me such anxiety

i hate it

especially the time

it seems to be an hour a second-

in that place in my mind

most times, someone invites me there

unknowingly and on purpose

i hate the way the foundation feels

and the texture of every surface

i could be so happy

if i never had to visit

what is the key to just moving far away

to go as far away as possible- is that it?

there is just one small space

that feels comfortable in those Halls,

a tiny area, all my own

in that awful, draining place

i don’t want to feel this way

about where i should be at least somewhat safe

but no one there remembers me

even less when I beg to be seen in haste

it is my childhood, my adolescence, and adulthood

once for a short time it was not all bad-

there used to be so much good

my past, present.... and future

now i realize

where i fall everytime i stop feeling

present, wanted, safe, or alive

it’s in that place now,

the only time i wish i could be dead

the place i hate to be the most-

my own rotting head

I lived half my life there

So close inside them

That I nearly disappeared

There’s almost no place

I’d rather not be

I need his kind of sanctuary

Like I need a sugar coated cyanide tab

It was killing me anyway

Perhaps that poison

would have been kinder

..here we have a closed balcony, you’ll share the flat with another three guys , but this “room” is all yours. spacious, enough for a queen size bed.

you have a closet and one power outlet. but dont go past 60watts or the fuse jumps.

you get plenty of sunshine. we put on curtains, just for you. they only cover half the line but light is a good thing. think of the savings you’ll make with electricity. no seriously, think about it. remember those 60watts i was talking about.

and the view outside! look at that empty lot! just beautiful. no cars park here, well at least until 4:30, then it turns to an all-night parking lot. but you might consider that a benefit. there are flood lights outside, so you really can enjoy things. people often spend time here, enjoying the clear, undesturbed night view.

oh, you play the saxophone? well no problem with anyone. no worries. i’ll tell you what, you can practice here all night to the rythem of the car alarms down in the lot. no one will complain, i promise. it drowns out...the alarms i mean...oh lets move on to the kitchen...what’s that? you won’t take it? listen buddy, im doing you a favor for even talking to you. i have another three guys to show them this mess. here, look at my schedule all of them by noon.

oh, why not do tbe showing in the afternoon? what, around three? no, i cant come here again, i have another fire tra..i mean apartment to show.

take it or leave it...but you’ll take it. i can see the desperation in your eyes. the hunger for an experience. the visceral need to live through something. well here you’ll have it all;

just remember three months upfront, deposit on the bed and a five year contract.

why five years?

why not?!

Perhaps, at this moment, as I sit and ponder

Future me somewhere will look back and wonder

And smile, and think, as her arms nimbly cross,

“How can one lose again what never was lost?”

That future me maybe could answer your question.

Who knows? Maybe not. It was just a suggestion.

For now, though, I’ll say (not entirely sure)

I’d probably lose it the same way as before.

If before was a bed with the man of my dreams

Or a couch, or table? You know what I mean.

After wedding, of course, before that, wouldn’t dare.

On our honeymoon night; a romantic affair.

Or maybe it’s morning or mid-afternoon.

Whenever, wherever he’ll cause me to swoon.

Whoever he is, however it goes,

In that very moment, I’ll recall this prose.

And smile, and think, as my arms nimbly cross,

“If something is given, it’s not truly lost.”

There once was a limerick oracular

With passingly striking vernacular.

It tried to be swank

As a minted lamb shank,

But sadly fell short of spectacular.