How heavy the days are.
There's not a fire that can warm me,
Not a sun to laugh with me,
Everything bare,
Everything cold and merciless,
And even the beloved, clear
Stars look desolately down,
Since I learned in my heart that
Love can die.

We travelers don't simply visit a place
We roam and rave, and lose ourselves,
whether in between alleys or cedar trees

Or waves, and we never stop running into
the tides that crash into
us, breaking all we ever covered
ourselves, all we ever hid behind.

No, we travelers don't sleep in white sheets. We
lay naked under the stars. Only under cold breezes
will we close our eyes, resting from the sights
that shine so bright they sore us.
And even then, we will listen
and we will dream.

We travelers don't fall in love to be in love
We let our hearts open for no other reason
than genuine awe of another being
who may or may not reciprocate our feelings, so
we'll laugh and cry bittersweet tears and smiles
until either nothing, or everything is what's
left.

i'm cut up like those
ribbons,
splintered
hollow.
there's this triangle
space
where my heart refuses
to be forced into
and
i keep building pyramids
that shiver beneath my
touch,
breaking & aching
lost & empty forests of
silence
caught in that place
where
i can't even
be
alone by
myself.