a word’s worth

these syllables

are draining me.

my words hit

the ground running

far away from me-

grasping the things

i'll never reach,

finding what

i've yet to discover.

i want to be bukowski.

is there a sun

i can walk under?

is there any light

at all?

some nights

my palms feel sticky,

and i find

the moon's blood

on my hands.

as if i could slaughter

the god of the tidal waves.

i know nothing

but nothing itself.

the silence

could crush me.

i keep typing.

i am breathing through keystrokes

i know can't save me,

but these words all i have.

i keep typing.

i wish this times new roman

could kill me.

i keep typing.

these words can't fill me.