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

I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back

If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing

To put it simply each beat of your heart is a gift that I receive with the anticipation of a child at christmas

You asked what I knew about you and I thought up a list of twenty things

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 see no joyous rebirth in spring for autumn will bring another death I see no joyous rebirth

Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin