(2014)
I see no joyous rebirth in spring for autumn will bring another death I see no joyous rebirth
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
I spend my nights wishing on every star in the sky that you are alive and well
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
I hope this is postmarked before my death certificate is dat… but you’ll know why if it is or if it isn’t If you get this in time
Everyday brings a new death in three words give or take Some days I drown
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 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 grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes
To put it simply each beat of your heart is a gift that I receive with the anticipation of a child at christmas
The road is long and winding like nothing you can imagine Too many off ramps to count but too few in hindsight
I’ve kept my eyes closed most of these past eighteen years because I find it just as dark
Forever seems like so long until I think of all the times spent waiting
