(2013)
#Death #Life #Love
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
I awoke from a deep sleep and knew the reason was to write I love you
I would write a sweet poem and title it with your name if I loved you at all
I know that you were there in my dreams and in my arms Every dream we
I don’t remember any anesthesia after talking with you but I woke up stitched back
I’ve always been at the very least a little caught up on everything about you This idea of you
Autumn sneaks in preceding dormancy Leaves take on new beauty with nothing left in them but a fa… Individually insignificant
I’ll keep searching for the meaning of life and I hope I find it as crumpled paper nearish a trash can
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
Hope in another form but no fewer letters and I’ve been hoping for these past eight years so I’ll just keep on
You asked what I knew about you and I thought up a list of twenty things
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 see poems that need to be written scrawled in the shape of your smile and the lines of your face
Loving you was never sweet like the taste of vanilla the way I thought it was supposed to be It was more like