Your eyes replay the times
our weary, shaking fingers crossed,
like the wrinkles in your skin
hold every memory we’ve lost.

I’m still searching for the ground,
like I’m the dust and you’re the shelf—
I try to remember a knot is just
something tangled in itself—

The early morning is a different world.
One where deep, even breaths
and songbirds keep it alive.
Where drowsy fingers drag across wooden tables,
and warm palms grasp flowing, ceramic hearts.
One where if you listen closely,
you might just hear the deep sigh of
the walls, as they drink deeply
of the morning sunlight.

I am the books you’ve never finished,
the pages left unread.
I am the corners you’ve left bent,
and all the lines inside your head.

I am the fading, crooked spine,
with the slightly torn cover.
And when all the words run out,
I am what’s left to be discovered.

you don’t watch the moon and stars
half as much as I think you should—
please don’t worry about the clouds
a little rain will do you good—

//

We let our legs hang off the cliff,
swinging high above the sea—
Sitting inches from disaster;
oh, how much peace it’d given me—

I want to go back to the very point,
where you lost everything you had.
Where it all lay broken and strewn 
in front of your weary eyes.
The point where you were beyond saving.
The point where you stopped caring.
The point where nothing you did
could keep it all from crumbling.

I want to sit next to you.
I want to feel your shaking hands.
And without words,
I want to tell you
that it will all be okay.

I wonder what it takes
to be as patient as the sea—
Always going, then returning,
missing land so desperately—

Your thoughts they crash and waver,
all at once, or not at all.
Their chaos is so peaceful,
like your eyes, if I recall.

I still feel your hand brush mine,
with every gentle breeze.
And your scent it hovers here,
like a beautiful disease.

A simple little smile, oh
how my heart fluttered with ease.
The thrill inside your voice,
as you led me through the trees.

These now live inside my pen,
all of what we used to be.
I’m scared to know your thoughts,
what if there’s no more about me?

Our fingers brushed so gently,
I still remember how you’d grin.
You said my hands felt warm,
but I felt so much more than skin.

There’s so much collapsing in me,
that I’m sure I’ll never tell—
Please don’t fret, you’ll never know,
because I hide it all so well—

If I told you I was scared,
then would you still come with me?
I’ll keep you close as my own skin,
as we sink into the sea.

You say you’ve emptied out the [love]
and now there’s none left in your bones—
If that’s the case, why are they warm?
And why do they still feel like home?

I had 
to listen
so
carefully,
to hear
the quiet
words
coming
from your
eyes.

You say I’ve come unglued,
losing one piece then another,
but to fall apart you had to of,
at some point, been together.

My apathy is now unraveled,
though it started with a thread.
I said I wouldn’t let it **** me,
but I had already been dead.

And now these fibers are all knotted,
twisted tightly roundabout
all the windows and the doorways,
where the love was once let out.

I’m sorry
if I
look 
empty,
I only
know 
how to
give 
everything
I have.

we’d [l]eave before the sun,
I’d take y[o]u gently by the hand—
ne[v]er lost, but always wandering,
drifting through lik[e] grains of sand—

The pen inside your mouth writes
words of [love], and of despair—
It glides along so gently,
with its ink that is the air—

But now your words are fading,
and they drift away from here—
I wonder if they’ll reach me
[right] before they disappear—

your eyes, they stared and asked me
what was going through my head—
(dear don’t fret, please let them rest)
some things are better left unsaid.

/
there’s no strength inside my bones—
but there’s no weakness in these tears.
your breathing may be soft—
but it still stifles all my fears.
/

I’ve realized why my veins are blue,
I’ve known it for a while too.
All the blood that’s left my heart
is now returning, missing you.

these lungs
may be 
breathing,
but I 
still think
I’m deprived.
just because
this heart 
is beating
doesn’t mean
that I’m
alive.

I was
left
at the
seashore
of your
eyes, 
where
your
breaths
became 
the waves.

only
your
heartstrings
keep me
from drowning
in your
lungs.

sometimes
your smile
spoke
more
than
words ever
could.

And if I lie as still as I can be,
my thoughts are still as violent as the sea.
Reliving every broken moment,
with flowing pen and bended knee.

These waves refuse to stop their crashing,
no matter how desperate my plea.
I feel the murky water splashing,
I feel it brush me so gently.

I swore I’d point your ship towards harbor,
knowing that you’d leave me behind.
But now I wish I led you farther,
to where peace and hope align.

These rugged hands will feel the warmth
as they move slowly in the sand.
Before I untie the raft I made,
and drift out just as I had planned.

And if I lie as still as I can be,
my thoughts are now as quiet as the sea.
As every shipwrecked vessel passes,
I make my home in the debris.

remember all
the winter
nights
we spent
alone?
my hands
would
not stop
shaking,
and it 
wasn’t from
the 
cold.

raindrops
only fall
when they can
no longer
be contained
so
I guess
they’re like
the words
flowing
out of
this loving heart