untitled

i revert to many
one would be too much
you know
almost nothing
of me
yet
everything
seems to be
so simple
so known
so implicitly understood
it is painful
to be
so silent
so far away
as i imagine
it would be
with words
so close
together

untitled

atop the mountain
of bones
and books
i collect
feathers
and sun-splotched dreams
i weave
new stories
of these
old threads
wings
to carry
high
above the smoke and ashes

a letter to my grandmother

true
the others have left you
but you have left others
who will never leave you
but will leave each other
this perpetual cycle
confusing
and comforting
giving
what is left
to those left
to give

stone

what does one say,
when there is nothing to say
when the expressions well up on the inside,
but don't even have enough strength to make it out of parted lips
when one is simply too tired to live
when silence will not suffice,
but the words wont either
when angers are dull axes
hacking away at the inside of a mind
concussing blows
that will neither cease pounding away at that which holds them,
nor slice their home open and make their way out
free

these lines on my face
my soul's impotent rebellion

late

it is done
the beginning
has begun
and so we have ended
these juxtapositions
trite
there will be more
words
for now
this will suffice
i'm not well
but there is too late
and it will be
soon

one degree of separation

i would ask you why
you did it
but I cant
I couldn't even ask you
why you would
because I had no idea
you would
nor, it seems
did anyone else
now
there are only questions
a gaping hole
recently filled
with nothing at all

know

and before this all goes away
before you go away
know
that you were my beacon
you were my island
you were my door
you were my light
you were my window
you were my key
you were my paper
you were my mouth
you were my hands
you were my sign
you were my hope