• The Library



    Trailing fingers over dusty tomes,
    Passing over broken spines
    And threadbare jackets.

    Wooden beams and cinder blocks
    And yellow-painted shelves.
    The aroma of time settles over all.



    Hill


    Rolling down the hill
    End over end
    When I stop, the world keeps spinning
    And I’m left standing still



    I Could Scream


    Some days, you’re like a scream
    in an empty room.
    You bounce off walls
    and reverberate
    until that’s all there is.
    Just the room, me, and the scream.
    Other days, I could scream at you
    for turning me into what I am,
    but then I’d stop
    and stare at you
    and lose myself in your eyes.