Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin

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

Forever seems like so long until I think of all the times spent waiting

If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains

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

Everyday brings a new death in three words give or take Some days I drown

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

I’ve kept my eyes closed most of these past eighteen years because I find it just as dark