#9

The thing with broken clocks is
that you can tell
exactly when they stop ticking
with people, its not so easy
and sometimes,
you cant even tell if they're broken.

Bleed

but her soul did not bleed;

and you could never guess if her
blood was red, blue, green or grey;

or maybe she did bleed, 

and maybe the colour was invisible
to those eyes that wanted to see, 

or maybe her blood spilled ink on the pages of her diary, 

or maybe it bled in the blue pacific ocean when
the hurricanes came and you thought it was
the moon and its tides to blame, or maybe her
blood was nothing out of the ordinary, and maybe
she did bleed when you saw the way she
smiled when her own touch bid her goodbye, and
when her own skin washed away where you touched her.

I don’t know

how to tell you this
without breaking
my hands.
at night,
i can hear the lonely
 hearts beating.
we’re all wide awake.
hungry for love.
with too much missing
in our chests.

here, listen.
 
i have become
a creature of habit,
always reaching for
what is not there.
my wrists are
frozen in time.
what i’m trying to say is,
 i love you
but in a different way now.
 nothing’s been the same
ever since you burned
down the forest
the wolf in me
called home.