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

Hope in another form but no fewer letters and I’ve been hoping for these past eight years so I’ll just keep on

I would write a sweet poem and title it with your name if I loved you at all

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

I get my silence in five minute doses before the plane overhead brings me back to earth

I’ve always been at the very least a little caught up on everything about you This idea of you

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

So much time passes without feeling a single thing that I think I would give anything

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

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