tell me the story
about the time
when the blade
across your wrist
didn't feel as good
as the taste of air
against your lips

won't you fall for me?
i'll gladly fall for you.

an expulsion
of sadness

an admission

that maybe
just maybe

everything
is not as
okay
as i said
it was

maybe
just maybe

it is not
okay
at all

take me away in your time machine

back to a time when love meant forever

and promises were meant to be kept

and secrets could be whispered

at three in the morning

the words spilling onto our pillows

and filling the space between our noses

echoing

until they could be heard by those

somewhere in downtown hong kong

now that i
cannot
i long so
desperately
to hear that
story you've
told me
a million times
once more

the taste of salt water

and your lips

fills my soul as I

breathe in

twenty-six letters

infinite numbers

and combinations

yet still not enough

to speak of

all the times

you’ve made me realize

how alive i truly am

i want to write,

but my words are

so shy.



they cling

to my brain

like a child

to a

blanket,



as if

their very life

depends

upon

it



little do they know,

if only

they would just

let go,

their life

would

truly begin.



the ink, their blood,

the paper, their bones.

when one lives
so deliberately
so freely
how difficult
must it be
to die?