(2014)
I feel empty unceasingly until you come along and fill my heart to bursting
I see no joyous rebirth in spring for autumn will bring another death I see no joyous rebirth
I hope this is postmarked before my death certificate is dat… but you’ll know why if it is or if it isn’t If you get this in time
Forever seems like so long until I think of all the times spent waiting
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
I know that you were there in my dreams and in my arms Every dream we
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
There seems to be a drought in my… but who knows if it is the cause or the result of the war raging within me
I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes
I’ll keep searching for the meaning of life and I hope I find it as crumpled paper nearish a trash can
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
The road is long and winding like nothing you can imagine Too many off ramps to count but too few in hindsight
To put it simply each beat of your heart is a gift that I receive with the anticipation of a child at christmas
I don’t remember any anesthesia after talking with you but I woke up stitched back
If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains
