Judgment
she opens the mind
weighing scales for those once blind—
those that surrender
The Hermit
it— a lonesome beast
now striking the match itself
to light its own lamp
Two of Cups
snakes are arduous,
both in their love and their hate
they’re bound together
Queen of swords
student of judgment
sword polished for punishment—
she falls without detachment
Morning
Flecks of glass across hardwood
shimmering in refreshed morning light
like faux emeralds.
Chair legs rest
splintered and sharp
near the toppled kitchen table
that you bought with her.
Looking down
knuckles: green and yellow
with blistery red accents.
Your eyes are red too
like burst fireworks
or spider webs.
Spent, you sit
on an old wine stain
the carpet carries
letting an empty home fill your head
with silence deserved.
Anywhere
Most days I sit and think
about how I don’t want to be here
nor there
or anywhere.
Neither heaven
nor hell,
earth,
limbo,
a place beyond,
somewhere I can’t get back from,
a plane betwixt time and space,
a void of blank white walls,
a pit of darkness found
nowhere.
My lungs cave in
like they’ll shrivel and fall
caught by my ribs
clinging.
Ambivalence arrives
as tired tears
drop
Heavy limbs
weighed down
at the realization
that nowhere is impossible.
Inside me is nothing
and I cannot go there
so I must stay
until my days have passed
sitting and thinking
of a place neither here
nor there
or anywhere.
Eyes of Stained Glass
Baggy sweatpants cling to feeble legs
stale and stiff
needed to be washed days ago.
She didn’t wash them. Like her shoes,
her shoes that were stained,
ruined from a soiled world.
And her hair. Curled
but not elegantly. More like unkempt, uncared for,
a nest on her head. Displayed, but not proudly.
Cowering behind her mask,
her appearance in ruins,
but with no name attached.
A person in crisis, no doubt. But who is she?
Beneath coiled knots are worried eyes,
eyes scared to death over lies
told. Doing ‘fine’ but less alive
the more she lingers.
A mass throbbing in her head,
welling in eyes of stained glass
A sickening black
exhalations into evening air,
with a feeling of lack
and indifference.
A dull exterior,
squirming insides inferior
She was something
made into nothing.
