Death of a Poem

There is a door

I think it is locked

There is a mirror

The reflection is blocked

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On Memorizing Music

What if rather than stuffing this melody into my head

I were to feed it to my heart instead?

But alas it is easier said than done

to make the music and musician one.

– Padfoot

Calling Currer!

Concerning Dreams

I hope I’m never heard to say
those tragic words, “I will wait”
or more tragic still that simple phrase,
“Now it’s too late”


Pocket Pain

We are cowards, we who cannot mourn

but from the beginning we were sworn

into this, and threads that weren’t our own

into suits of happiness, our bodies have sewn

and the secret then is this,

that in our smiles we taste no bliss

yet force them for all to see

and this is the greatest blasphemy

Continue reading “Pocket Pain”

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