(2014)
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
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
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
I spend my nights wishing on every star in the sky that you are alive and well
If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing
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
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
To put it simply each beat of your heart is a gift that I receive with the anticipation of a child at christmas
There is poetry in nature better left to be spoken wordlessly by the breeze
The pen must be mightier than the sword For there is nothing that will spill your guts faster than a bit of ink that says
I’ve always been at the very least a little caught up on everything about you This idea of you
I don’t remember any anesthesia after talking with you but I woke up stitched back
You were the wind beneath my wings but I was Icarus so all I did
Just when I get back on my feet you pass on by and I lose my footing Again
I feel empty unceasingly until you come along and fill my heart to bursting
