Life gets light
and I am lifted
by the poetry
of her.

The green hill's mist
is weeping through
the blades
of grass.

Expedite my end
bring it to a close
the new me that deserves to be
is something I'll keep close.

I hate suicide
I wish it would **** itself

RIP
Jim
Woody
Arkheem
Tim

My scars
are etched
by tears
like canyons
along my cheeks.

You move me
like music.

Your voice
sings to me.

Your skin
is a symphony.

Your smile?
An endless coda.

Your wet,
my hard.

A string of intertwining melodies
bound as one,
no interval.

An ostinato
that never leaves
the eternity of
your Springtime breeze.

And so I write here
so as not to disturb.
What can I say?
All I am is words.