Sleep, dear human

young flesh, older dust of stars dark, open wounds and glimmering scars. a plexus of eccentricities normalized with words, breaths escaping, counting backwards- You, dear human; the shallow of your cheek, the depth of your deep, collapse tonight in a listless sleep. catch your breath, as you fall in your head, when you're alive in the…

On sadness and grief

Isolation is a crevice in my head, where my thoughts like to dwell and dawdle when grief seeps. Grief seeps, it doesn’t pour. It does not pour like the rain- heavy and dark, then clear and clean when the sun moves out. It seeps slow, smooth and soft. It fills in like the kind of…