(2013)
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
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
To put it simply each beat of your heart is a gift that I receive with the anticipation of a child at christmas
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
The road is long and winding like nothing you can imagine Too many off ramps to count but too few in hindsight
My heart was paper now folded six times over to make it harder to tear I only hope that
Loving you was never sweet like the taste of vanilla the way I thought it was supposed to be It was more like
I don’t remember any anesthesia after talking with you but I woke up stitched back
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
Everyday I lived out a song written just for you But you could
There is poetry in nature better left to be spoken wordlessly by the breeze
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
So much time passes without feeling a single thing that I think I would give anything
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