I will not be afraid
of closing the binding...
The darkness is overwhelming
folding me within...
Raindrops descend,
ruthlessly pounding...
Air is heavy when you're sober,
a weighted nothing breaks your pride...
Some say a poem is supposed to rhyme
Though many don’t every time...
Time's tapping
against my tea cup...
It feels like
my words are...
...they came every Friday
to their bench by the lake...
What if we all were completely color-blind
Our retinas all saw the same...
Every word was a stitch.
Skin fastened to survival...
To suggest
that unproven meds...
Evenings like these leave me cold.
The smell of burnt wood and almost summer sits on...