(2013)
There is poetry in nature better left to be spoken wordlessly by the breeze
I have whispered your name into the air so many times it has become the breeze that blows
So much time passes without feeling a single thing that I think I would give anything
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
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
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
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 don’t remember any anesthesia after talking with you but I woke up stitched 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
If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
Loving you was never sweet like the taste of vanilla the way I thought it was supposed to be It was more like
I’ve kept my eyes closed most of these past eighteen years because I find it just as dark
I’ve always been at the very least a little caught up on everything about you This idea of you
