hatchet

an iron door is more of a trap door than an entrance.

looking in, i must have seemed so vulnerable.

like iron bars, windows only display the unachievable.

the past flashing by; it’s like a museum from a different time.

during that time, i never felt like i was a part of you, nor you a part of me.

but whether it was good or bad, through conversations both crass and nuanced, you seemed sweet to me.

like a problem child, i made big mistakes. that’s because i’m like an old man-i only think of endings.

in this way, i predict my young destruction. coronation of ruination.

a graveyard with iron instead of stone tombs is one where higher emphasis is placed on death.

higher power on the other hand, is from an alternate universe.

it is a pathway i no longer tread upon.

it was a temporary cure for a permanent problem, a pillow for my aches.

you were a temporary problem with a permanent solution, one i enacted without mercy on myself.

i will probably never see you again.

i am meant to believe it is for the best, but progress is slow.

the tears i stifle are the only enduring part of my days. nights are vacant, anyway. cozy black hole. vacuum of lackadaisical breathing. cold, wet crawlers on my spine.

comfort

four walls too small for me to stretch out a wingspan.

an opaque ceiling so that i cannot see the sky.

only the floor is achievable to my body,

so i put my cheek on the cool stone.

tempest

is that thunder underneath? maybe outside of this room, it’s raining.

i can’t tell for sure, but i’ve had premonitions like this one before.

a storm is coming to blow apart every casket from the inside.

there will be a hurricane or heartache. depends on where you live.

hell will be the only thing that will warm us.

you said you were right.

as enter the hole where everyone else leaves, i give you my verdict.

two laws

i said you were severe in both punishment and pleasure.

it is a bland proposition, one that has been made by every friend of yours before.

i have been demoted to the prison. our places have been swapped.

it’s too late to take back my reminiscence, and for my crimes of heart, maybe this is fair.

jailbird, jailbird. no opinions of your own.

i’m condescending because i have acted childish. i have earned this place of no escape, this annoying and cheerful dead-end.

i think stupid things to myself. mainly this one question-

think of the law of conservation of energy. what kind of things happen when energy tries to delete itself?