(2014)
I have whispered your name into the air so many times it has become the breeze that blows
Everyone sees god in a different light but I was born without eyes
There is poetry in nature better left to be spoken wordlessly by the breeze
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
Loving you was never sweet like the taste of vanilla the way I thought it was supposed to be It was more like
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
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 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
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
I awoke from a deep sleep and knew the reason was to write I love you
If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing
Autumn sneaks in preceding dormancy Leaves take on new beauty with nothing left in them but a fa… Individually insignificant
It must be a wednesday or a friday or any day at all for I am painfully aware of the wo… that consumes me
