they lied when they said
hell is the afterlife
that inferno is
felt only when the
blood is pumping
your soul dead
but your pulse
is loud
consistent
beating

hell is loss and
having to still
get up every morning
and do all the trivial
and offensive tasks
that keep you
somewhat afloat
even though there
is no more sky
there is no ground

the only thing beneath
my weathered boots is
the bottom of
everything and
a stack of bones.

coffee shops are a great place
to study humanity and all of our
imperfections, subtleties, humor
everyone with apple computers
just sitting there, advertising
headphone tuned in, tuned out
to the fact that the zombie girl
is sitting right next to you
typing, typing, typing
each stroke of these keys is
my lifeguard, i am sinking
but each word gives me some
sense of buoyancy, keep trying

zombie girl keep writing and
this will all have some sense
with each verse you create
a new opportunity for
the light to shine back in

i sit here where we sat
our words stagnant, unimportant
my tea is spiked but no one knows
just enough to take the edge off
just enough to keep the outlet
plugged in and flowing 

glad the sun is out today
i stand outside just to
thaw my bones for a second
eyelashes and cheeks tilted up
toward the brightest bulb
that has shined this week
last time i felt warm inside
was the day before we said bye
just three simple letters that
brought with them the ice age
the cold rush

i have no care to be
the crazy girl standing
in the middle of the road
beaming because
the solar flare never dies
i die you die but
she will shine eternal.

the darkness comes with the night
just as the whiskey cloaks me
and
i lay with comforting shadows

in the moonlit atmosphere
you thrive and dance with me
my smiling face close to yours
in my memories i am
happy
warm
alive
whole

too many tears, so much
of my body curled up
lamenting the existence of
my moon man and me

the washed up urchin
far from her sea
taking the wrong waves
the familiar foam of
her depth and obstacles
is replaced only by
tepid water and salty breaths

the desolate urchin
skilled and solitary
passes the day awaiting
the glow of the purple moon

on a quest for a warmer end
to the terminal frailty that is
thin skin and a soft backbone
expansion with no comfort