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

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’ll keep searching for the meaning of life and I hope I find it as crumpled paper nearish a trash can

I’ve kept my eyes closed most of these past eighteen years because I find it just as dark

Life is an uphill struggle Nothing comes easy and only hard work pays off I don’t like hard work was my 5 word protest

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

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