Where are we then
when everything is
up in the air
and nothing true
can be sincere?

Where will you be
when I come home
to an empty house?
Oh, where will you be?
I can’t find you
when I look inside.

Three minutes ’til I
have to leave,
and hours worth
of work to do.

Too much time
walking in retrospect.
I can’t regret a thing;
but there are
so many words
I wish that I ate.

I can make
sense now
in this collage of
broken thoughts
reality is what
it makes of you
never what you
make of it.