watching his malign
moves upon my child shredded...
Nice things always
break...
Like the sky
I give my grief back...
I feel him at the edges of an unturned page
He’s there waiting, waiting for me, waiting in a...
They ask me why I write about the future
like it has already happened...
March 17, 1997, under the four-leaf clover,
- a symbol of faith, hope, love, and luck...
I fear for the day when I no longer see the good...
Or even in myself...
repeat it
until you believe it...
Who am I if I do not have the slightest clue?
I question the intentions of my aspirations...
It seems
you still creep in...
I feel like i’m a storm
stuck in a tea cup...
Your tread of love upon my heart brings light
Though hard you fight to make me feel alright...