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.
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van Gogh
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.
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huckleberry
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 …
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wasted
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.
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yesterday’s
a soul torn in half
both cold and broken
takes pictures in the dark
of yesterday’s closing door.
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season
enduring the season
where wine numbs the hurt,
his feet push down old memories of missed loves
deep into the coarse shelled sand
where tides quickly wash away …
another year passed alone.
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winds
the hidden winds blew
and what was once written,
is now erased.
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basement
in the basement of his soul,
concealed scars reached up to
turn off the light to his heart.
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carved
carved away by a river of pain,
the worn and jagged edges of his heart
now expose the forgotten sedimentary layer
of how to love.
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caffeine
surrounded by caffeine and smoke,
he painted his portrait
in the misty colors of his personal mythology
to obscure the bruises and scars
only visible to him.
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Unfinished Souls 