Skip navigation

Monthly Archives: January 2015

in order to survive,
they all slashed at each other’s throats
until the ultimate winner,
the last one standing,
slowly bled to death


he’s hurt
that’s not anger you see
that’s the blood he’s bleeding when the flesh of his soul is pierced
he’s not screaming
it’s the sound of his tears cutting furrows down his cheeks
those aren’t scars
they are his memoirs
what’s your story?

in the dead of night
as we lie asleep
is it as loud in your ears when I scratch my head?
or when I shout inside
can you hear it like a faint whisper if your head lays next to mine?
or do you hear the thunder?

and during the day
the echoes of the storm
do they leak out from behind the noise of our everyday lives?
as I bump my head on all the low hanging ledges of my life?
and if I awake someday
will you still love me tomorrow?