What we hold onto
owns us drowns us sedates us
slow death by shopping.
Hoarders on A&E
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What we hold onto
owns us drowns us sedates us
slow death by shopping.
What we hold onto
owns us drowns us sedates us
slow death by shopping.
Pulling apart a
life together, the future
frays like a cut edge.
She woke up seeing
him in a different light
flame sputtering out.
She turned to cake, felt
herself melting, the devil
eating his way out.
What do bunnies and
chocolate have to do with
a resurrection?
When Robert Frost wrote
“Nothing gold can stay,” he could
have described child stars.
He sent sensitive
documents to a stranger
thinking it was me.
Our waitress admits
the town has its share of ghosts.
We sleep with lights on.
No one waters them.
Tiny cells plead, but TV
seems more important.
Night winds roar like a
giant parent screaming “Go
to sleep!” without words.