(2014)
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
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 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
If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
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’ve always been at the very least a little caught up on everything about you This idea of you
I spend my nights wishing on every star in the sky that you are alive and well
I don’t remember any anesthesia after talking with you but I woke up stitched back
Autumn sneaks in preceding dormancy Leaves take on new beauty with nothing left in them but a fa… Individually insignificant
There is a girl and I love her and I have loved her since the beg… Or so it seems to me as I only became conscious
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
My heart was paper now folded six times over to make it harder to tear I only hope that
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
