The end of a sentence
is a period.
The end of a life
is a death.
The end of a road
is a dead end.
The end of a book
is a last page.
The end of the light
is the dark.
The end of a fire
is water.
The end of time
is nothing.
The end of the truth
is a lie.
The end of a person
is a gunshot.
The end of me
is you.
The end of lunch
is an empty bowl.
The end of a poem
is a message.
The end of a hello
is a goodbye.
The end of this poem
is this.

White pages
stained and blemished
Once ******
now yellowed with age

Passionate words
blurred and faded
by tears
long since dried

Thin lines
holding memories
of kisses, soft touches
and pleading eyes

Paper treasures
Printed gems
Buried
by a sea of years

No one knows
why they are kept
locked away
in a cherished nook

Until they are held
by trembling hands
on lonely nights
when old hearts ache

I Am Broken In Ways That Makes A Good Story

They'll Hate You If You're Pretty
They'll Hate You If You're Not
They'll Hate You For What You Lack
They'll Hate You For What You Got

I saw your chapstick in the store the other day
I stood there just staring at it
Do I even need chapstick?
No.
But it has the taste of you
And god I miss that
Now my lips feel permanently stained with you
You linger on every word uttered from my mouth
I can't stop licking my lips
Ive never even had a real grapefruit

Running and running
As fast as I can
Can you catch me?
Are you a real man?
I’m faster than you
You’ll never catch up
I’d meet you at the finish line
But you’ll soon give up
See you my darling
I must say goodbye
I’m running faster and faster
Did I see you cry?