Who’s awake with me

As the witching hour ends

When the bugs have stopped talking

But the birds haven’t started yet

Lying in the dark

While the fan whirs

And my husband breathes beside me

It’s too hot with the blanket

Too exposed without

Naked and afraid

So close, yet so alone

I wait for oblivion


I will dream of you tonight.
Hold you hostage
behind my eyelids.
I will push you
against the wall.
My hands on your chest,
ripping the buttons from your shirt.
You won’t protest
with my tongue in your mouth.
I feel hot blood
pulsing in my veins.
I need this more now
than I ever will again.
Don’t wake me up.


where and who we were,
so far from this place now
who was once a lover,
is now a stranger
who was once a friend,
now an enemy
what was once beautiful,
has long since decayed
what was once longed for,
forgotten and discarded
what is here today,
may very well be gone tomorrow
for time is a cruel mistress,
and we exist only at her mercy.

my apology

I get so crazy sometimes
and I’m sorry, baby.
I try to keep my head on straight
but I don’t always succeed, and
as you well know,
when I get angry
heads will roll,
and not just mine.
Then there are those days
when my sadness overwhelms
and the pain must flow,
and it does with such fury
that I worry my tears will drown us both.
You know all too well
I’m not a good swimmer.
I will continue to fight my demons
always, anything for you,
and keep hoping
that my good outweighs my bad,
because though my wild and headstrong spirit
brings the occasional war,
it also brings so many lovely moments,
like running through the streets
hand in hand
or kissing passionately on overpasses
in the middle of the night.

And so as I have
since the very beginning,
I shall continue to give you
my entire heart,
all of my love,
and this poem:
my apology.


something from nothing and back again

one day we’ll be dead
and none of these words will matter
although it is debatable
whether they even matter right now
we produce something from nothing
over and over again
and feel accomplished for it
but isn’t that the cruelest joke of all
that we feel compelled to tell our stories
which then revert to nothingness
when our lights go out for good


The words have to come out
so I put them to paper.
Sometimes it’s a trickle.
Other times a flood.
My mind an ocean of
Could have beens
and visions
of what might still be.
Feelings that must be expressed.
Pain that must be purged.
Love that will not be forgotten.
A choice between
sharing too much,
or my heart, living
trapped in a cage
of my own making.
I choose freedom.