“Writing one’s own obituary because you’re mourning a profound part of yourself.”

    where one used to travel, worn was the path
             now walk down the trail, gray grass beneath my feet
        I miss my sense of innocence,
                                       lost in the years of late night phone calls
                                            midnight tears
                                     coalescent agony, brought to my knees
              and the only way out was to score myself
who else would provide the sword?

                            she rests in an ash tree,
                                      burdened and confused no longer
                                but oh, how I miss her smile

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