These streets are barren
Stripped of conscious life
Left to die, a wasteland
Of brown, and black, and blue
Fundamentally ashamed
Of all they’ve come to be
Turned to rot and ruin
Dressed in sackloth and ash
Like consecutive numbers
In black, and white, and gray
A creative parody of sorts
These silent nightly trysts
These episodes of silence
Behind darkened windowpanes
And hollowed out veneers
The meandering lake run dry
Leaving dirt, and silt, and earth
Waiting for the rain.


A reasonable delay
A staccato rhythm
The humming of bees
Where no hives exist
This hesitant laugh
Echoing off stone
Finding no purchase
No complementary edge
On which to balance
These expectant shivers
Disintegrating calm
Falling into disarray
Yet holding steadfast
To this lovelorn hope
That everything will mend
Even though it won’t.


I can’t remember love
Not the uncompromising kind
Or the shadow of a promise
We never made to ourselves
But I do recall September
When we danced between the rain
And I remember strong laughter
A cacophony of sorts
Shifting in the swell of life
That often takes us by surprise
This idea of love that remains
When all else is obscured
I do recall sweat soaked sheets
In an otherwise empty room
Save for you, and me,
And the rhythm of this heat
Left behind in your frenzied wake
Cooling in the cruel reality
That encamped once you let it in

Now I know it wasn’t unconditional
Not the fairy tale kind of love
Just a placeholder for this pain
Shoved down in these dark places
Where the agony still reigns
Until I pray it to sleep

Until I pray it to sleep.