Afraid of waking sleeping dogs...
I tiptoe around this house...
A drunk man in an Oldsmobile
Had ran the red light...
Emptiness, psyche annihilated.
Screams fester, no escape...
My nemesis calls upon me
once again as is her custom...
All she ever wanted was
to hold his hand, tell him...
Little Annie sits upon a wooden shelf
little black eyes stare out...
Looking at an old picture of me,
Through the broken glass...
Friends come
And they go...
"Oh look at them pretty eyes"
Eyes that bear into your soul...
Just a face in the crowd
A raindrop in the sea...
My first memory of depression
Takes me back to ten-years-old...
a grief tsunami
swirled around Notre-Dame’s spire...