You were
Always right,
Even when
You weren’t.

Fields of
Blooming anguish.
A bountiful crop
Of silent panic.

The Storehouse
Overflows with
Long lost dreams
And fresh nightmares.

Sharp-clawed clouds,
Fluffy and deadly,
Roam freely
Eating the night.

Lust and pleasure
Share a hot-tub,
Hungover with guilt
And anticipation.

Sharp shards
Of broken hearts
Awaiting unsuspecting
Tender hands.

A caress
Turns into
A sudden jolt
Of pain.

Can one
Be sentimental
And still manage
To survive?