Sixty painful minutes
Afore shutdown
And I’m still scanning
The pages for your face;
Sixty useless sighs–
Sixty priceless smiles;
A few more seconds
To wander and to hope;
Though, it’s after five
In the morning
And you’re still a mirage
Far, far away.
I finally opt
To ride the waiting bus
And leave
The gaping presence
Of shame;
Then, I hear you
Screaming my name.


“Secret Agony”

Stitches down your sides;
A stash of provocative wishes,
Crushed by your hand.
A desire to speak–
A yearning so loud to utter
What you have in mind;
Although, no one wants
To listen to your crimes–
A ridiculous waste of time.
Though, you can’t cease
The insistent bleeding;
Shivers creep up your spine;
A lyre wails in the background.