heavy handed

breaking habits, redressing old wounds.

october’s twilight is troubled by slow rain.

in dreams, my shadow pokes, prods, unravels. it holds something too tight. something alive. can’t you hear it wailing?

poke, prod, unravel. a single path out. i walk backwards into an old vessel:

THE HOUSE IS HAUNTED, / WE GO IN ANYWAYS. / IN THE HOME OF MY YOUTH, A SMALL DOOR SIMILAR TO CORALINE PLAGUED MY DREAMS. / SWALLOWED UP ALL THE OXYGEN IN THE ROOMS. / MY SHADOW REARRANGES ITSELF INSIDE OF ME. / A PROBLEM OF MY OWN MAKING, / OF MY OWN CREATION. / I SEE THE CIRCLE I’M TRAPPED IN. / THE MARK OF WATER HARDLY EVER LEAVES. / UNMADE BEDS, OVERFLOWING BOOKSHELVES. / ESCAPE THE SCRUTINY OF YOUR OWN COMPANY. / ESCAPE ALL THAT YOU WANT FOR YOURSELF. / I SEE THE VULTURES CIRCLE OVERHEAD. / MY SHADOW MASKS ITS CONCERN. (let me apologize.)

the full moon has come and gone, rain’s coming in. let’s embrace whatever creature i am becoming.

holiness haunts. there’s still time to be _______ than you were shown. drowning isn’t a punishment. it’s a second cleansing.

a single path out. life exists inside and around. it waits for you like a deer in the road.

have a nice life, you’re wounded wherever you travel.