Dear Love,
I keep thinking
you have taught me
everything thing there is
to know about the word pain,
then I make the mistake of loving again.
                                                
                                                              Sincerely,
                                                                            Self

The sky blue
The sun setting
Clouds rolling in
The whisper of rain
Another day disappearing
Another day without you
Another day of emptiness

The first time I made a watercolor
was unclear and inconcise
a bleeding between emotions; of colors overlapping
the brush tasted blue and loved it
wanted to spread it across the page
A permanently stained brush always leaves a mark of its first color
bleeding into all others

and their shadows dim,

time,

the kind to turn boys to men,

lonely only looking for a friend.

reach for fire

gainingredhands

they never heard my crow call,

cawing always drunkenawe.

all i need is them,
a grain of salt

selfinflictions, all my lovers ever saw.

once i loved a thing so pure

self-harmed, so sure.

always knew it was wrong.