042025 contact high
there is nothing left here
graffiti that serves no one
an uncommented thought
an uncemented sense of self
.
i lost the pattern stumbling
uneasy aches flitting from one place of rest
to the next, in time
it was cold and hard on the skin
encouraging a pinch
an undeserved digging in
to
why would you look away
how could you possibly watch?
.
the space between is learned
emptiness was never prone to guilt
shame is being seen
is being caused
.
here, the jacket fits loosely
mismatched but not in any meaningful way
the strum is indicative of strings at rest
vibrations best reserved for heat










