emotionally beat down
internally crushed
mentally humbled
a heart pummeled
forget the iron fist
the velvet glove is to blame
it

My Bag of Regret

He sat on a bench in the park that day
I couldn't help notice, as I passed his way.
Sitting and staring down

"Letter to my Unborn Child"

Dear love of my life, apple of my eye, my own special miracle that seem to come true;
There are

NO PROPER GOODBYE

Burnt in autumn's glow,
the last page of your book,
the bit where you say, goodbye,
and turn, for one last

"One Day too Late"

Needing escape from the mournful howls,
The smell of death, the human growls...
I grabbed my things and