(2014)
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
Forever seems like so long until I think of all the times spent waiting
So much time passes without feeling a single thing that I think I would give anything
Loving you was never sweet like the taste of vanilla the way I thought it was supposed to be It was more like
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
I see words screaming for attention etched in the lines of your face Let me look closer
Everyday brings a new death in three words give or take Some days I drown
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
I awoke from a deep sleep and knew the reason was to write I love you
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
If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains
I have whispered your name into the air so many times it has become the breeze that blows
Autumn sneaks in preceding dormancy Leaves take on new beauty with nothing left in them but a fa… Individually insignificant
