Loving you felt like
Driving a car with no brakes:
Thrill before impact




At my autopsy,
Unfinished love poems to you
Found stuck in my throat

I’ve been experimenting with haikus the past few days. They’re fun to write!


I want your poison so badly,
Every inch of me aches for you to infiltrate my bloodstream
And spread your disease,
Corrupt me on a cellular level
Until my veins collapse and
I bleed your toxic spirit from every pore


I can still remember your voice,
Fragmented as though refracted through a prism
I remember pressing delete on the last voicemail you ever sent me,
You called to thank me for the flowers,
You called me thoughtful, sweet,
You were tripping over your words with joy,
And I couldn’t handle it after you left,
Because your voice reminds me of symphonies and plane crashes
And oh God, how it still echoes sometimes,
Like the sound of a child’s laughter ringing across an abandoned playground,
Your voice resonated with the frequencies of my heart strings,
And now I fear it would only cause earthquakes

Rag Doll

I am ill and have no salve nor tonic,
No solace for a heart worn by grief,
No reprieve for a soul crushed with regret,
I am but a plaything for Love,
A rag doll to be hurled around
By a petulant God,
Punishing Man for his hubris,
His gall to demand happiness,
An impudence unforgivable,
Punishable by a lifetime of
Emotional flagellation and damnation
Damnation, forsooth
Damn this bottomless heart,
Damn this burning blood it pumps,
Damn this undying fire,
Burning for a dead icon,
Like a dog bringing sticks to his master’s grave,

This fire burns almost to prove a point
With no regard for life,
Until it razes this body clean to the ground



Hearts incinerated,
A blistering display of immolation,
As blazing infernos consumed all,
“Arson,” they thought,
Brushing through the ashen remains,
Never concluding that
You were the spark
That lit my match
And set this whole world on fire


You once told me about a painting you drew,
You told me there was a painting underneath
But when I asked of what,
You wouldn’t tell me;
It was too soon.

Everything about you felt like an enigma,
Even though you bared so much of your soul to me,
Your secrets, your fears, your burdens,
And much like that painting,
I felt that I could only scratch the surface of you

You beautiful, mysterious creature,
Enshrouded in secrets,
Wrapped in riddles

I still wonder about that painting,
And what I would have learned
But you were a tome that I’ll never finish,
Your pages left to be read by another,
Who would drink in your rich stories
And savor them like a prized wine aged by time and effort

And though I am merely a footnote in your storied history,
I am grateful to be associated with your name,
To have touched your life,
And have been there for you as I have


I carry an ocean of regret and longing,
Things I never got to say,
Before you went away,
But these streams of poetry
Slowly drain waters roiling,
While thoughts of you are gently boiling,
And time ticks by with every exhalation,
But this love has no expiration