The past is too full of pale ghosts,
The future, too full of insubstantial hopes.

Today is too bright,
and too empty
of You.



months have passed
and still, this grief

(leaves me
gasping for air)

steals my sleep,

(leaves me
hollow-eyed and

brings me to my knees,
chokes me with tears,

(leaves me
feeling threadbare)

won’t leave me.


There is beauty in death, i think.
Not in the vulgar machinations,
The swelling and suppuration,
The separation of flesh from life.
But in the quiet parts,
The slow exhale, the letting go,
The spiraling up of spirit,
Released from the dull, grey
Distorted thing we call living.
Nature knows this.
For all things that live
There is a beginning
And an inevitable ending.

The beauty of death,
Like a heavily drugged sleep,
Is that it separates us from care.
It smoothes out all the worry
That life etches into our bodies.
It lifts all the heaviness
That lays upon our tired hearts.
Death is indifferent to pain,
To loss, to grief, to longing.
Death is beautiful in its purity.


if all things must end
then let this, too
be the end of me.
rather than live
always echoing,
echoing sadness
in a hollow husk.
rather than walk,
numb, along a shore
where hope is set afloat
upon a midwinter sea,
to find its own way home.
where love is mere memory
scrawled in sand.

let me lay down
amongst bitter grey ashes
where truth and promises burned,
let me lay down
and close my eyes
that no longer see your smile
let me lay down
with my tired heart
cobwebbed with cracks
and dream, and wish
for just a single day
without this emptiness.