(2014)
#Life #Meaning #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 wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
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
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
Under the weight of life I forget how to breathe and I feel suffocated I hesitantly make peace with the world
The road is long and winding like nothing you can imagine Too many off ramps to count but too few in hindsight
There is poetry in nature better left to be spoken wordlessly by the breeze
Just when I get back on my feet you pass on by and I lose my footing Again
I see no joyous rebirth in spring for autumn will bring another death I see no joyous rebirth
I feel empty unceasingly until you come along and fill my heart to bursting
My heart was paper now folded six times over to make it harder to tear I only hope that
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
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 I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin