{what is sad.}

questioning quietly in times
where burdens have been buried
dug up in the dark, laid to rest again.
in truth,
i am the last.

what can be said.
i am the lost,
confronting myself in mirrors
dismissing or accepting truth and fortitude.
the day breaks and i am the same

as i ever was

words write themselves these days.
wine drinks itself
these days there is nothing
but the act of waiting
and saying life is too short

if this were my last moment
would i be satisfied in it,

i think not.

love lingers in the hearts of men
and where i stand is not stable
the bed i sleep in
is not my own

the ground i walk on
was not meant for me

my breasts silently swell
and i anticipate
the quietness.