by Moshe Levy

I crave what I used to have,

But shiver at the thought of it,

The pain dials down then rests upon me like an ottoman,

I’m hanging by a thread like the tree with all its ornaments. 

 

Half-truths and lies of all the things I kinda sorta did,

Things I should’ve said but never spoke I know my aura did,

Shining blue light like the moon oh how glorious,

Shoved my feelings farther down, just so more would fit.

 

I can’t even walk out on these thoughts,

ugly morbid things,

Secret pictures hidden in my vault, forms of hieroglyphs,

It’s funny cuz the longer we live it’s no surprise we’re gonna die like this.