I gave your voice to the sun
I tried to catch the stars in my hands
But they fell through and cut me
Sliced my fingers into two

There is nothing in the sky but your silence
Looks like the sun burned the sound of music away
And the stars sparkle on the floor from when they landed here
As for me I am nowhere
Nowhere

I tried to give your voice to the sun
But the sound of music burned away
And the stars, they fell one by one
Cut my hands away
Tried to give you to the sun

Our moon is incompatible
November's cold and grey
You have ***** fingernails
Whereas I try to wash the dirt away

And what I once thought was music
Was just the sound of a thousand shattering stars
And what I once thought was beautiful
Was merely a thousand glittering scar's

You are a silly little man-child
And I am just a little girl
But as for me, I am tired
Of the blunt beauty of this world

I am on Pluto dear
You are on Mars
We sold each other out honey
We destroyed the stars

You spoke addiction
like a language
like an art form
marks on your arms
on your thighs
A Mosaic of patterns
You said they looked prettier than the
ligature marks around your neck
the invisible noose
you constantly swayed from
Like addiction was a guy
you couldn't make your mind up
about
at-least they had more meaning
You said I never understood the purpose of tiles
and how beautiful they looked close up
and how you never got bored of counting them
There was more life in your bruises
than in your eyes
like each little hole
****** out a little more of you
said I could never understand the
beauty in
feeling
really
feeling
lukewarm bath water
turn cold
In a womb of your own destruction
in a needle
in a rope
in a razor
a false sense of life
of *life

I imagine the Egyptians felt about deaths of loved ones a lot like we think about autumn
It isn’t a passing
It isn’t a loss
They are just waiting for them to bloom again.
Plants are a fragile thing but maybe they aren’t as fragile as we think they are
Just as we are often not as strong as we think we are

It is easy to break a person
Especially one who does not want to be broken
Because they are the ones who will fight the hardest and tire quickly
It is much harder to shatter apathy than passion

Then there are the people who want to be broken
People who drink their own pain like water
Or maybe something more toxic like bad wine or good coffee
The people who look at their bruised arms and see lace
Instead of burst blood vessels

Some people need the pain to know they can still feel
They would rather feel agony than feel nothing at all
Some people need pain to create
Pain can be the paint in an artist’s brush, the keystrokes of a writer’s fingers

Some people feel pain because they are afraid to feel anything else
Happiness fades, contentment stagnates, but sorrow is a constant companion
Sometimes I worry
That I am one of these people

I spend my time reading, writing, inhabiting the minds of others
The stories of others
Because I am afraid to look my own story in the face
And see if I like the direction it has taken
Sometimes I live vicariously through the stories of others
Because I am afraid of what will happen in my own

I am trying to be passionate without being breakable
And I am trying to enjoy my water as well as my coffee
And I am slowly learning that I cannot write my story, it must write itself

Inevitably pain is part of every story
Including mine
There will be heartbreak and there will be bruises and there will be hairline fractures, cracks, fissures, schisms
People will leave, be it by death or by simply walking away
But every moment of pain is simply an autumn
A winter
And in time everything will bloom again
Stronger and more resplendent than ever before

Stone deaf
Youre walking down the street
Drowning in the puddles
The people
You meet speak about
How you look just like a ghost
Who would break a heart so pretty
Neon
Glow and flicker on and off as you pass
The places that you used to haunt
But you just cant go there anymore
Right there through that door
You had your first kiss
So you go back
A stones throw down to Fifth street
Thinking of
How you'll forget those better days
You don't hurt anyways
Feel nothing at all
Numb now
The rain comes down in sheets
But youre covered

As your purple heart beats on
You think you hear your favorite song
As you're stepping off the curb
Who could have the nerve

To bring tears to those eyes again

My soul married yours long before it told the heart,
That was your secret gestures, it had been concealing
And shy alphabet letters formed our non-linear talks
On which ancient symbols were awakening with the news,
That my rapt countenance longed to behold only you.
And in Morse code, my riotous pulse was pinging,
In tiptoeing tiny steps, toward your smile-fragranced planes;
With small sips of blind and drunken-wheeling wonder,
On Adirondacks of time, I finally met your gaze.
And together found, we were writing the same vows;
Our fingers following a bright-feathered knowing,
And scented blooms of flowers knew your older names;
And avalanching comets swept clean the turgid dawns.
Then the seeds of forever were pocketed in your breath,
Wreathed by stars, and saved for hidden yearning.

Unlock the dreamless sleep
to see the truth
when afraid
you are the last face
with words of decision
bound to gaze into the mirror,
when you are surrounded by us
in the evening of our hearts'
and still know we are one
even if unnoticed
by anyone
in the light of day.

How do we close our eyes
and fly away
when we find
we are only human
wearing a dress of skin
and we remember how we met
and built bridges to be together?
Still, we both know
that a  music flows between us
and neither one of us
can ever
forget the words.

The doors are wide open
and nothing is different,
our love is full of life and time.  
Unlock the dreamless sleep
and see the truth,
my beloved,
look at us
in the evening of our hearts'.  
We are still one
even if unnoticed by anyone
in the light of day.