I’m tired of hope.
It’s only a matter of fact
When you’re standing on bedrock
Looking at the sky

Finding the patterns
Dotting graves
To find myself
Wedged
Among dramatic hopeful
And suffering coward

Carving shapes
Into mesh
Scream
Letting my hairs’
Edges
Caress rebirth

Only to find myself
Well carved
In tombstone.  

And he took her hands
While the chordophones twanged
To the rhythm of angel’s tears
Smile, swallow
Clothes infinitely scratching the skin

And inside myself I look
And feel the twang
Of a nostalgia of a love
I never had 

I struggled with fractions
Plucked the missing cord
And took her
Violently against the bleakest corner
Until the heart grew fonder
With rose petals and the like
Decorated with vapid vivacity

Stabbed the image
Down my throat
And each bladed point
Scratching the scales of my nerves
And my pincushion neck
Bashed on the floor
Left with nothing
From nothing 

We could live forever, but we’ll never be this young again.