They say that lust is antecedent to love.

If true then it is not my heart

that is wounded but my ego.

By that logic I should be able

to find a substitute for you.

Yet you continue to occupy me

day and night the way that rain

makes a home for itself in every hollow.


A choice never seems as such

the moment it is finalized.

I could wait but waiting

feels a lot like penance.

Sometimes patience

leads to obsession.


I didn’t die the way I planned.

The chains were too thick,

the armor too heavy

and for all my inventions

never once did I think a door

would serve a purpose

other than invasion.


My heart is a well

and every night

I reach into her depths

in search of water

to quench my thirst

but there is only

so much blood

one person can drink.


You were supposed to love me.

Not because I willed it

but because I gave you an invitation.

How can I follow you now knowing

that I am just another shadow

dragging behind your back?

I saw this in my list of poems to edit but I could not find the original in its entirety. You might recognize some lines from it.