(2013)
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
To put it simply each beat of your heart is a gift that I receive with the anticipation of a child at christmas
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
You were the wind beneath my wings but I was Icarus so all I did
There is poetry in nature better left to be spoken wordlessly by the breeze
I’ve always been at the very least a little caught up on everything about you This idea of you
I don’t remember any anesthesia after talking with you but I woke up stitched back
You asked what I knew about you and I thought up a list of twenty things
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
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
Hope in another form but no fewer letters and I’ve been hoping for these past eight years so I’ll just keep on
Everyday brings a new death in three words give or take Some days I drown
If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing
