Thursday, November 6

for your birthday

the smoke from someone's 9am cigarette break
a blue that cuts the sky like glass,
a morning winter is proud of-
its viscous golden sunlight, its arctic wind like a
disembodied herd of wild animals; i welcome them-
my hair, like sails in a storm, obscures my
disappointment with the heaviness of each day;
i am trapped in unforgiving amber
i can't remember of a time before waking
up with tears in my eyes from a heartbreak that
never ends, just builds day after day;
i will never be an artist,
and you will never love me