Here, I am waiting,watching and listening,thinking of past days,filled with present longing,hoping for future release.My heart is broken,not to the point of a wilting flower,but the leaves are brown,and the stem is turning black.I could be wrong about this,or of things in my past,maybe a part of me is gone,maybe I am whole but can’t

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He travels toward me in the shape of a hurricane, ripping off my skin, breaking my bones, forcing me to stop the bleeding.His words move at a pace of a tornado,a straight path until it abruptly changes,approaching my weakness at a great speed.He sends a meteor close to where I stand,it knocks me off my

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the number two cheesenot the big bananaand not the little banana eitherall this talkingwill pull closer to themand wanting valuable treasuresthis does not offer anythingto commit to a dancein a hidden networkfind anything of usefor the strangers begto slide down furthershame is uglyand increases with timein each hair growththe stunted not worth muchto walk alone

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Their faces pressed against the glassThis is the precursor to deathI am not afraid of them waitingThe last minutes left of my lifeI almost hear my bones breaking downThere is strength in what remainsMost of my senses are goneThe only one left is sight and soundThe enemy left long agoI looked at the length of

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My favorite color is red.Reminds me of blood.Not surprising, at all, coursing through my veins.Preventing me from dying.Forcing me to breathe again.A case for living and model of survival.

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