(2013)
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
I spend my nights wishing on every star in the sky that you are alive and well
Autumn sneaks in preceding dormancy Leaves take on new beauty with nothing left in them but a fa… Individually insignificant
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
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
I see no joyous rebirth in spring for autumn will bring another death I see no joyous rebirth
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
I feel empty unceasingly until you come along and fill my heart to bursting
If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains
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
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
Loving you was never sweet like the taste of vanilla the way I thought it was supposed to be It was more like
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
