Grief.
Grief.
Strange grief.
One moment it numbs you.
Holding you in denial.
And disbelief.
And the next.
It drowns you in
torrents of tears.
Like a fierce summer
rainstorm.
Where you can barely hold on.

Grief.
Grief.
Strange grief.
One moment you relish
in your new freedom.
Your new life.
And the next.
You miss them so much
that it feels like a slow death.

Grief.
Grief.
Strange grief.
All that you knew and loved.
Is not there anymore.
And in its place.
Is an empty void.
So hard to endure.
Sometimes you long for things
to be.
As they were before.
When you sit alone.
Pondering.
How life once was.
When your family was together.

Grief.
Grief.
Strange grief.
Oh, when will come relief?
Can time really heal this great wound?
Perhaps a little.
Yet the depth of the wound,
and the number of scars,
can only truly be healed.
By the Man of Sorrows.

Grief.
Grief.
Strange grief.
Will I ever feel whole and complete again?
When it feels like half of me has been
ripped away.
Leaving a gaping hole.

The Man of Sorrows.
Whispers to my soul.
"It is not irreparable."
I collapse in His arms.
And pour out my grief.
Grief.
Strange grief.
And He makes me whole.
Again.

I am a black dot on a piece of paper
a single mark within the infinite
you have already erased her
all that’s left is sin and dirt
this skin does hurt
the pain is real
it’s a slow boring
that’s reduced me to kneel
my words are boring
but I continue to write still
maybe I will find the answers
somewhere between the lines
if only I could have asked her
instead, we only drew knives
to cut away at each other’s flesh
to reveal the emptiness inside
now her surname is death
and I’ve run out of places to hide
so slip your ring upon my finger
let my breath taste like winter
for I am just a black dot
a single mark
what you forgot
left in the dark
a tired writer
she had all the strength
I am nothing like her
I can’t even repent
I know I was meant to learn
from all my mistakes
but all I do is burn
amidst all that is fake
I can’t change the world
I couldn’t even change her heart
just a stupid boy that loved a girl
now a black dot a single mark.

There's ether in
the cloud at the
bottom of the hill.
Birthdays come and
go,
and they seal the deal.
Feelings change with
the wind,
but time is real.
It's a thief,
and it likes to steal.

Never forget the root that fed you,

for no matter the height you attain

remember the earth beneath your feet..

No matter your height,

                       you forget what
    you grew from...


you'll easily fall and no one will hear it.