You don’t need a gun
to be shot.
I know this
       because the morning after
you left, I found a bullet hole in my chest,
that sadness from that Sunday overflowed to
    massive amounts of
pain in Monday’s mayhem.
The next thing I knew,
I had blood trickling from the
stab wounds in my back.
My weakness on Wednesday echoed the
      innocence of my thoughts;
you don’t need a knife to be
   stabbed.
The flashbacks on Friday were bearable
until my skin started to peal from the burn
during the sunset on Saturday night.
The warmth reminded me of the butterflies that used to flood my stomach when you smiled.
But they’re gone now
just like the warmth of your touch on my skin that’s
now just a bare surface.
I guess you don’t need fire to burn either.
The bullet hole will close, the stab
wounds will heal, the skin
will grow back.
The morning after
I saw you with her
I learned the biggest lesson of my life;
You don’t need water to
                                             drown.

I'm thinking again
Feeling again
Thinking too much
Feeling too much

I feel like a storm,
A hurricane,
My mind is...
Collapsing

I don't understand
But in the end,
I never have
I never will

I'm just trying to understand
Something my eyes see
That my heart doesn't
A new story,
My mind is making,
To make sense of it all

Words find their way.
Hearts speak through fingers.
Reading eyes are mirrored in
Ink systematically spilled in
The shape of sounds
And minds.

A pen resting on the table is a
Flatline.
A blank piece of paper merely
Dead, compressed wood.
Don't deny us your genius.
There is no try in poetry.