Once what was a glow, a warmth to keep me going,

Now a growing void for a future unknown.

Distance increases.

As the light that once was fades.

I sit here in silence.




This is the present we have made.

A happy heart now draining, ignored by the one who fills.

Those who know and understand,

Know that loneliness kills.

The mental struggle.

The physical toll.

How difficult it is to see,

When blinded by delusion and hope.

Things like this make happiness feel impossible to be.



Let go of all you know.
All that torments you.
Let someone else take the final blow.

That nothing matters.
The thing we call reality,
Easily shatters.

Build up your walls.
For them to break them down.
Light are the hands,
The ones that steal the crown.

Throw you from your throne,
Strip you of your title,
Look you in the eyes,
Hand you that deceiving smile.

With nothing left,
You stand alone.
Beaten by betrayal and deceit,
Everything about you turns to stone.

That nothing matters.
The thing we call reality,
Easily shatters.

The more we hold onto, the more others can take from us.

If you can let go of things, you cannot easily be defeated.

By others, or yourself.

The Bed Adjacent

Covid has done a number on society. People are sick, people are hurt, people are dying and yes, many have died.

I have seen more than enough Covid related deaths than I would like to admit, but there’s more to just the sickness and death itself…

Some rooms share hospital beds, where two people lie in misery, a common ground for them to share together.

Where they both can visually watch each other suffer, get better or even die.

To watch someone pass with your same sickness has to put things in perspective…


In the adjacent bed, unable to speak. He leers at his inevitable outcome.

His bedmate lies dormant. His mind has gone numb.

The bedmate preps for leave.

The curtain hides his vision, sounds of plastic and cloth. Ears hyper-focused: a flame to the moth.

The curtain moves and the bed empty, a partner in misery, gone. A hand raises for goodbye, for he cannot speak, a tear falls from his eye.

Seemingly a hopeful moment gone wrong.


Another day

Here’s to the opportunity of seeing another day.

When you open your eyes first thing after a moment of slumber, some sort of gratification or thanks should be felt. The fact that you could fall asleep and never wake back up is a possibility.

A possibility many dare not to think upon.


Another day, I’ve seen many.

Perhaps more than I would have liked to see. Life plays in it’s infinite ways. The beauty of vision, sound and touch, pays in endless form.

To breathe another breath, is another step into this life: a fragile living storm.

Another day has come and it seems no different.

Menial tasks bludgeon me and feelings take over, leaving me with a body tired and a weakened mind. I wake each day and witness the core beauty of life, and say, “This is something worth leaving behind.”.

Be happy to see another day. It may be your last.

A Day at the Funeral Home

To anyone who doesn’t know, I work as a Removal Technician Manager for a funeral home.

Yes. I move dead people.

To be open, I don’t only move the dead. I respect them and handle them with grace and dignity, as all the dead deserve.


A source of warmth from cold hands

The sound of burning exists. Retorts cremating those claimed by Death. Memories and ash are all that will remain.

Heat creeps from doors which transform flesh to ash.

A warm welcome in the winter season.