"before i die, didn't we say one day?

maybe not, did we say one day?"


this poet
finds inspiration
at the bottom of glasses,
burning on ends of unfiltered truths
through desecration
self-deprecation
silence
whimpers

pent up tears
hit the barricade
overflow
they run so thick
that the salt weighs heavy
at ends of eyelashes
holds eyes shut
they taste of the ocean
more specifically
of its debris

alcohol infused concoctions
remove roadblocks
to scarred gray matter
and she's left
to stumble through tribulations
and trip past the gore
of previous encounters

encore?

adoration best enjoyed in moderation
but how does one find pleasure
in being mediocre?

burdens bear heavy
she was not born with that
slouch
in her shoulders
but the guilt of situations
are to be paid in large denominations
even if they are not her own

the wilderness in her gaze
leaves her heart uninhabited
it's not worthy
of exploration
of discovery