Conscience

Sorry, little baby,
you couldn't say a word.
Your mama and your daddy
didn't know what they'd be missing.
And if I die, before I wake,
I pray to see
those brown eyes,
your dark hair,
crooked teeth,
knobby knees,
and the hands that will forgive me.

Conversions

I don't have a topic, but on times in forced solitude, I feel the passion for writing like I once had.
It's a struggle. I don't get enough of this to even call it a practice I partake.
All I have are the clicks and settling of this crumbling hangar. To screw, nut and bolt my way through this four-year sentence.
I feel so dry, the dust has caked to my glasses. Fuck, and it's flowing through my bloodstreams.
The gallons of words spewing from my mouth, cannot be measured in ounces.

The Way Your Body Hooks Around Mine

It must be the way...

Now I won't rest without you intertwined.
Now I'll look both ways.
Now I can't smile if yours is missing.

Siempre Something

I must say, it's a little hard to swallow.
The worlds I have distanced myself into
     I'm suffocating.

I have to tell the truth, I love my man. I love myself, but I'm losing it to anger.
I can't seem to separate the incompetence of these fools, and the love I used to have.
Somewhere I lost the ability to be civilized.
Those rights I fight for— the justice served.
The freedom I live for is being swallowed by my boss.
With every penny is my acceptance to the grand demise.

The aches and pains of my morals entice my anxiety.
I've sat here for six hours, living in the past.
It's sick.
I fought addiction, saved myself with hands to hold me up.
I loved the world, and it loved me.
I saw the better outcome; had hope.
I had control of my woeful life.
I chose to protect my hands, in turn, their touch faded.
I can't plan for the way out anymore when I've already conquered larger battles.

This game
where I paddle to the end
it has too many undercurrents.

I'm melting with commitment issues.
Fuck the hand that feeds me!
I'm sick with making the best mistake of my life.