I’m sorry;

Took the hits and sent a few punches

of my own. Marked them with a kiss

because where I need to be is on your

lips. This is going where it deserves to

go, to die. But that doesn’t mean I

can’t color in the rest of the light.

Have a say. Have sway. Promote

“stay.” Stay. But no one ever stops

the procession, do they?: “speak now

or forever hold your peace,” “are

there any reservations from those

that didn’t bring a $500 check or

wrap up a brand new blender or

toaster oven?” I damn near sought

out a way to sell my soul just to have

myself wrapped around you again.

But I can be thee for whom the bell

tolls. Dying with dignity. Or dying

in general. I just need a bit more

nudging. A little more healing.

Or a little more… something.

Why won’t this stop hurting?

[9/20/23];

Don’t want to feel like my hand is forced

It was fair to be alone—the most fair.

breaks its back over and over

[and over] again.