(2014)
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
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
You were the wind beneath my wings but I was Icarus so all I did
You asked what I knew about you and I thought up a list of twenty things
If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing
The pen must be mightier than the sword For there is nothing that will spill your guts faster than a bit of ink that says
I’ve always been at the very least a little caught up on everything about you This idea of you
I’ve kept my eyes closed most of these past eighteen years because I find it just as dark
I spend my nights wishing on every star in the sky that you are alive and well
The hands of this watch haven’t moved since the last time you did and I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear the ticking
I don’t remember any anesthesia after talking with you but I woke up stitched back
I see words screaming for attention etched in the lines of your face Let me look closer
I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes
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
