Broken pieces reaching out for other broken pieces
With a hope that they can finally make us whole

But broken pieces traded leaves the same amount of pieces
That are broken in the center of the soul

Broken people reaching out to other broken people
Knowing cuts are mostly what our fingers find

Hoping that our pieces are so perfectly imperfect
That they’ll make the damage worth it when aligned


The pencils are sharpened
The pen full of ink
The paper, pristine
Til it’s bleeding and darkened
By words in between
What I say and I think

The phrases are numbing
The sentences blur
The comments are cold
Like the thing I’m becoming
For trying to hold
To a fading allure

The words are depleting
The meaning is thin
The things that I wrote
Now I struggle deleting
Or even demote
Where they cut through the skin

The message is fading
The paper in shreds
The well is now dry
And I’m no longer waiting
For stars in the sky
To put light where the darkness has led


I give the roads away to new erosion
I pull down all the lights that shine your way
I slip out of the halo that I made of your reflection
And let your ruby lips resign to gray

I put away the mask with the expression
I painted with the color of your eyes
I cut the strings between the clues I made from dead connections
Since meaningless or meanings made of lies

I let the cycle meet its resolution
And put away the memories I bent
Until they fit a pattern I could twist into affection
Calling stolen arrows ones that Cupid sent

I let the symptoms swallow the condition
I throw away the needles with your name
I let you keep the pieces like a final intervention
Since the drug and the withdrawal hurt the same


Worn away the color at the edges of periphery
With flutters of a lash that tried to bind
Motes of indirection, to a sign that never differs, we
Go searching with a broken magnifying glass to find

Evidence or essence of a meaningful impression
Like the faded notes of lipstick on a cheek
Turning clouds to prophecy and luck into a lesson
Painting vistas out of what we briefly witnessed in a peek

Hauling into focus charcoal valleys called altiloquent
By meanings made to suit uncertain terms
Scrawled to thus assert, by imperfection does the filament
Burn brighter than the light of any opposite could burn

Where the ragged edges that we qualify as needed
Wear away and so we call the journey proof
Mollifying losses as a destiny we greeted
With a signature of blood, upon a parchment made of lies, we swear the truth


She stares with eyes she carved of river stones and waterfalls
Where veils of snow were made a crown
Upon her visage, looking down
And nebulas she wore about her shoulders like a shawl

Within her simple palace made of slumber, so serene
Where nightingales and idols drawn
Of sonnets sang their tidal songs
And north, her eyes, and south her heart, and shadows swam between

She carried on her shoulder pale a mark of sullen reign
With silver thread upon her wrist
Beneath a gown of autumn mist
But, ‘lo, upon a spirit frail she wore a heavy chain

Beyond the colored panes of glass where lights had never shone
Where sweetened lips and jagged teeth
Devoured heavens underneath
Her hair a waterfall, her eyes she carved of river stone


Around again in spirals now
With litanies like litter thrown
Where not for any moment made of triumph do we bow
To pauper kings and dying crones
Upon detritus covered thrones
Because we only stand as tall as circumstance allows

And so we set our palette thin
And worry for the paint we use
With brushes that we never touched and never will again
So canvases are left to lose
The portraits all bereft a muse
With signatures we craft of “Never lose, but never win”

Arrested by the view to be
Where, surely, stars are meant to grow
Our wrists are counting moments in a world we never see
And who we are, we fail to show
And why we hide, we never know
But hold our broken, hated masks and swear they set us free

But then there are so many days
And life is like a lost balloon
And here we are like children blinded by the golden rays
With fingers reaching for the moon
Where finding clouds would be a boon
But still, the road is dark and what we seek…it seems a million miles away


Sleeping cold, demure
So do you weep in bold azure
Your words of tea
Set in the waters, steeping
Fateless steps in faithful leaping
Cups without a cure

Weightless, knowing still
As you await this growing chill
Upon your tongue
The truth that none escape this
Looming valley, fuming, stateless
Hoping someone will

Resting, worried, worn
Your words a guessing, hurried storm
That seeks a calm
Away from woes distressing
Lonely days, your only blessing
Hopes, like paper, torn

Breathless, moving on
You wander restless, to beyond
The weary days
Of asking, “Am I questless?
If I’m lifeless, am I deathless?
Am I here, or gone?”