Just when I get back on my feet you pass on by and I lose my footing Again

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

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

I hope this is postmarked before my death certificate is dat… but you’ll know why if it is or if it isn’t If you get this in time

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

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

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

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