i love the universe-
but she makes my conscience hurt.
she turns me around,
and she pins me down.
it makes me feel like dirt.

i try not to love her,
but she whispers such sweet words.
and when she starts to flirt,
i start to convert,
and it makes it so much worse.

i hate the universe-
she's someone that i don't deserve.
she starts to get manic,
and i turn panic,
and every word starts to sound rehearsed.

she is my universe-
and every time that we converse,
my thoughts turn perverse,
her mind inverts,
and my fragile heart starts to burst.

There was a boy who never knew anything, and met a girl who taught her these things.

She taught him, how to smile and be happy, filled with wonder and joy.

She taught him how to love and he as well loved her too.

Filling him with shared memories of them two

She taught him how to hold on, and have a good grip, so that he won’t fall.

Suddenly, she disappeared leaving him, hanging on.

The boy was growing weary, he was in so much pain in clasping to the pieces

That will never fit back together

And then, in midst of pain, hurt, sorrow, agony and loneliness

In time, He learned…

How to let go
It wasn’t easy for the boy

Now he has to learn how to
s t a r t  over…

It's been a while.
All the flowers in our garden are dead.
Our children have moved out.
We barely talk.

It's been a while.
The sky is still damp.
I have to many hoodies.
My fingers are cold.

It's been a while.
I'm still the same.
I saw you the other day.
Everything has changed.

It's been a while.
Not long enough.
I fell in an instant.
It's hard getting up.

We painted a picture.

With old wooden paint brushed,
and expired paint in rusting cans.

We swirl together yellows and pinks,
blues and reds.

The image of us comes together
as we go.

With each the stoke we push harder
on the old canvas.

Until it rips through the center.

The jagged whole going up the entire page,

and we have to start all over.

time to waste,
a heart to beat.

a god defaced,
now obsolete.

a faith erased,
believed deceit.

as is death without grace,
to pray is to accept defeat.

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