What This Is

There is something about sharing the same skin
That feels like
Something.
I don't have a word for it yet
But it feels like
You're mine and you're me
And my dreams are in your head
And there's a right kind of wrong to us
That feels like
Something.
But this is not about love.
I don't know what this is.

Vultures

I had a dream last night
We were all convened
At a church to meet and greet
And atone for all our crimes

We looked upon each other
Found no truths, no resolution
Wearing the faces of our youth
Every blink was a tactic
Every breath a war.

I have grown too tired
For these petty, pointless games
But they are always playing
With the same worn deck of cards.
Even in my dreams we are not friends
We are vultures.

We picked through the remains
Of a million conversations
Reciting our dead memories
Regurgitating dialogue

We fed upon each other
Found no peace, no satisfaction
Sharpening beaks upon the pews
Every offer a tactic
Every truce a war.

I have grown too tired
For these petty, pointless games
But they are always playing
With the same worn deck of cards.
Even in my dreams we are not friends
We are vultures.

See

I don't see what you see,
I only see a reflection.
So I don't know what you love
Or find lovely about me.
I only see a collection
Of shapes and colors and flaws.

In My Leaving

I was born holding too many worries
Bearing the guilt of all their judgments
Side cast eyes and whispers above my head
Knowing a rejection I'd yet to earn
A perilous infraction, just existing.

So in my leaving I will be empty of
All the many things others think I should carry
And haul about for the inspectors of eternity.
I will throw them all to the crowds like confetti
And leave as the child I never was in youth.

Like This

I know grief and it feels like this
Forever falling into an abyss
But it's not as dramatic as
The words used to describe it

Grief is felt in the voice no longer heard
In eyes that will never look into thine again
And all the things they held within
Hopes and plans and worlds all vanish
Because this is what those we miss are made of
Dreams and possibilities we all are made of
And then are not, and then is nothing.

Grief is feeling all the nothing left
Where everything once was whole.
I know grief and it feels like this
It feels like lack and emptiness.