It's suddenly the middle of summer.
Winter has crawled out of my attic...

Trauma lives in this body;
it builds a nest with handcrafted...

I regret not killing you.
I could have done it quickly, without a trace...

You leave me in ruins
and at the end of each...

When first faced with my own mortality,
I had little fear...

There is sorrow in
knowing the best...

Who cares if I sneak
too many glances...

With each movement forward,
a firmer footstep follows...

It starts much like before.
I strip the walls...

it's always about you.
i know you don't always mean...

These weeks are often forgettable.
The wind howls in the distance...

I walk with a limp I never knew I had,
cheeks peppered with rosemary and...