i became stories

flat and sharp

symbols that describe


touching objects

treading  ground

watching line after line

THen my fAthEr dieD

Wednesday I visit his son in jail

When he’s a story it doesn’t hurt so much

Anger replaces the broken pieces

Love turns dry and crumbles into disappointment

remains of which I constantly try to brush off

or gather enough together

for one last bite.

So much life spent longing

For what might not even exist.

I want to shred the stories that end

at peak experiences…they’ve ruined me

as I feel the reel must be about to end

no film continues for this long and each day

i continue on….. jumping from story line to story line….