(2014)
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
I have whispered your name into the air so many times it has become the breeze that blows
I awoke from a deep sleep and knew the reason was to write I love you
I wish you had told me that on the good days kissing you would make me think that I knew what happiness was and on the bad days
Everyday I lived out a song written just for you But you could
I awoke in the dark next to you and more alone than ever I was amazed to hear your heart beating from
So much time passes without feeling a single thing that I think I would give anything
I’ve kept my eyes closed most of these past eighteen years because I find it just as dark
I see no joyous rebirth in spring for autumn will bring another death I see no joyous rebirth
I say hello and you say nothing You may hear me you may even think of a response
I’ll keep searching for the meaning of life and I hope I find it as crumpled paper nearish a trash can
I would write a sweet poem and title it with your name if I loved you at all
