7.4.24

 Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have my face crunched down into cold, white earth. What the taste of ice and blood would be like mixed together on my already acidic tongue.  Metallic. Lingering. Thick. If I'd find it in me to get up.  Blister out one more round despite it all. Or if I'd finally stay down. Drift off with the wind. Disappear into the quiet. 
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5.28.24

 Hell froze over that day. 


The last laps of a fading flame, 

blue light licking up the walls, 

ready to consume --


Snuffed out. 


A single curl of smoke

pumped out in a thin line, 

writhing and gasping, 

dancing and twisting -- 


Rising only to be 



gone.

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