I sometimes read what I’ve written in the past with questions for the older perspective

Surprised that I can write with an elegant voice and flow when my mind is in a deep black hole 🕳 

It’s as if the narrative pulls me from sinking further

Writing, a hand of a friend

Reaching in from the ledge


My heart is in my fucking throat

As I’m choking on the absence of love

And visualizing it everywhere.

I watch as blissful lovers glide across the sidewalks

Buried in nourishing love, flowers sprout tall from their skulls 

One waters and the other weeds

In the shadows of cool brick, I drool over their shared peace    

Making my ego beg for someone to look at me as if I held more light than the sun