(2014)
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing
If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains
I was like a rain cloud over a small garden and dammit if you weren’t that garden so full of flowers that I fell in love
The pen must be mightier than the sword For there is nothing that will spill your guts faster than a bit of ink that says
I’ve always been at the very least a little caught up on everything about you This idea of you
Everyone sees god in a different light but I was born without eyes
The hands of this watch haven’t moved since the last time you did and I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear the ticking
Everyday brings a new death in three words give or take Some days I drown
I’ll keep searching for the meaning of life and I hope I find it as crumpled paper nearish a trash can
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
I thought I could drink you away but I had to stop being so drunk on you first
There is poetry in nature better left to be spoken wordlessly by the breeze
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
You were the wind beneath my wings but I was Icarus so all I did
