(2014)
I’ve kept my eyes closed most of these past eighteen years because I find it just as dark
I’ll keep searching for the meaning of life and I hope I find it as crumpled paper nearish a trash can
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
I awoke from a deep sleep and knew the reason was to write I love you
Hope in another form but no fewer letters and I’ve been hoping for these past eight years so I’ll just keep on
It must be a wednesday or a friday or any day at all for I am painfully aware of the wo… that consumes me
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’ve always been at the very least a little caught up on everything about you This idea of you
I see poems that need to be written scrawled in the shape of your smile and the lines of your face
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
I feel empty unceasingly until you come along and fill my heart to bursting
I wish you had told me that on the good days kissing you would make me think that I knew what happiness was and on the bad days
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
If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing
