(2013)
It must be a wednesday or a friday or any day at all for I am painfully aware of the wo… that consumes me
My heart was paper now folded six times over to make it harder to tear I only hope that
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
I’ve always been at the very least a little caught up on everything about you This idea of you
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
You were the wind beneath my wings but I was Icarus so all I did
So much time passes without feeling a single thing that I think I would give anything
I feel empty unceasingly until you come along and fill my heart to bursting
I would write a sweet poem and title it with your name if I loved you at all
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
I spend my nights wishing on every star in the sky that you are alive and well
You asked what I knew about you and I thought up a list of twenty things
I know that you were there in my dreams and in my arms Every dream we
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
I don’t remember any anesthesia after talking with you but I woke up stitched back
