Sleep does nothing for weary eyes.
They have seen too much, they have worked too hard
to hold back tears, there is no disguise-
for the pain in my heart.

I am incoherently
admiring the fiction.
A welcomed false preoccupation
among an utterly drowning reality.

Beauty comes in the rain!
Spring again and the birds cry a heart-felt song.
[morning bliss]
Letting go relates to an empty strain
that I had felt so long ago.

You are the icy concrete
I slip on,
crack my head,
and take a hit on.

You miss me. You told me so yourself-
randomly and with sincerity.
I am "exceeding expectations". But I still dwell-
I cannot find a remedy.

You understand. You are the sinking ship, and I the sailor.
You are the reason I hesitate.


I thought I had stopped this.