infrequent

drawing incongruent lines towards you
with no sense of linear reference
aligning satellites with anxiety-laced minds
imagining our house with the white picket fence

ripper

i'm hushing you to sleep
posing as an uninviting lush
i've given up the ghost
and your turn has come up

groundless fear

waking up to a cold, dark room
with one lost soul to breathe on
writing off those last three pills
we yell and scream like saxons

heavy breathing
cold touching
endless erratics
empty lusting

accidentals

you, in this bath
you, in this crash

i, uplifted divine
i, remain blind

holy timing proves that it's unfaithful
once again, brought to a low
disintegrating hand interactions implausible
a situation so morose

we, span a country
we, transcend nothing

non-operational

penning a name with an ink that drips
a elegantly folded piece of parchment

i'm asking you for decompression
i'm asking you for resolution

the golden ratio shines a light
the typography mimes its' plight

i'm asking the horizon for directions
without asking, you provide the resignation