Poems

Black Suit Prophecy I bought the black suit three years before I needed it,hung it in the closet like a promise I couldn’t breakknew the day was coming when the phone would ring at 3 AMand I’d have to dress for disappearingwatched you fade in hospital whitewhile I pressed creases into funeral fabric at homethe […]

Between Signals Same alarm, same ceiling, same gray at the glass,Same coffee going cold on the same counter — let it passThe point of being drinkable, I do this every morning,A talent for just slightly missing things, ignoringThe moment when it’s still worth having. Pull the same shirt off the same hook,Run the same route

Bhwer and Breakdown She lit candles like they meant something, whispered to her own faceHad her panties on backward and mascara in every placeSaid the walls were talking but only when she was nakedAnd the tub was full of rose petals and razor blades she faked itShe rode strangers like therapy, moaned into the night

Behind My Eyelids (Part 2)My skull hums—a power station at midnight,every nerve a live wirecrackling with half-born verses,crooked stories hammeringagainst the inside of my teethbegging release. I walk past cracked sidewalkseveryone else has learned to ignorewhile my brain transmutes peeling paintinto failed romances,a single car horninto a sirenfor people who never came home. I have

Best Damn NobodyWho are you?Nobody. I’m the creak in the stair that keeps you awake,the hum in the wires your mind can’t shake,the pinprick sharp in a world gone numb,the undercurrent rhythm you never saw come. I’m a n-n-n-no-nobody—can’t write me out,I’ll rewrite the beat, resurface the clout.Built my stage in the chaos, found my

Before the Alarm Ten minutes left before the buzzer kills the peace,I slide my hand across her belly for the lease,On her body, she is warm and soft and barely stirring,My fingers find her slit and she starts purring. Like a cat who caught the cream before the dawn,She spreads her legs without a word,

Behind My Eyelids (Part 1)My mind writes while my hands wash dishes,while I feign sleep, while strangers scroll,while conversationsdrag their slow weight across the roomand I give mypolite nodsas though there isn’t a full orchestraslamming against my teeth,demanding release. I carry whole albumsbetween my shoulder blades—hooks looped around vertebrae,verses wrapped around ligaments,bridges stapled to tendons.Each

Bad Sacrament Kneel.Taste.Repent.Repeat. That’s the gospel of her body,the catechism of her sweat,and I am devoutin ways the righteous never get. She was my brother’s girlbefore she was my ruin,and every time I touch herI can hear the bridge still burning. Bad sacrament, dirty grace,the salt of her still on my face,communion taken on my

Bare Walls I sit cross-legged on a splintered patch of laminate floor,the air still carrying the faint imprint of her perfume though every trace of her touch has been stripped from the shelves,and the echo of my breath ricochets off vacant cornerslike a reminder that silence wins every argument we never finishedIt’s strange how emptiness

Beautiful And UselessHe had potential like a loaded gun nobody firedGot a drawer full of notebooks, every page uninspiredNot from lack of talent — talent’s practically leakingIt’s the distance between dreaming and the doing that’s defeatingAlarm goes off at sevenHe negotiates till tenMakes a deal with yesterdayTo try again again It isn’t laziness exactlyMore like