Forever seems like so long until I think of all the times spent waiting

There is something to be said of a true friend One who will pull the knife from your back One who will stitch the wounds

If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains

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

I thought I could drink you away but I had to stop being so drunk on you first

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

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