before your words became bruises,
before your hands were a weapon,
before my shirt lost its white,
and before tears were my food,
you were my father
and i was your son.
avp
AVP
in the ashes of clipped wings
he kept his love of feathered fragment remains
hidden where no light would find it.
avp
Looking down
he saw where the tears of wine
had left their stains of disappointment
deep inside
the splinters of a broken table.
avp
he hoped the lonely tears that fell down his cheeks
were like the raindrops that fall down from the sky …
for only a little while.
AVP
old shadows
that hover over the rocks and stones
in front of him
lead him with the wicked echos of regret
that his life had only become
his plan b.
avp
the boy in the window
carving a broken heart in his breath,
realized the condensation dripping down
was like watching his tears…
die on his lips.
avp
he freed his fingers from my hand
to paint his own van Gogh
on the side of another square
he felt was a better fit.
avp
with a carnival balloon in hand
and paper banjos playing softly beside the river
he walked home,
pausing only for a moment
to released the fictional helium hope
of ever finding his own huckleberry …
avp
the pile of faded out t-shirts
that sit silent in the corner of an empty room
still have the scented memories
of his wasted kisses, lost loves,
and the absent knowing
of how to feel something for someone.
avp
a soul torn in half
both cold and broken
takes pictures in the dark
of yesterday’s closing door.
avp
Unfinished Souls 