I'm writing to you from in-between the last page,
it's descendant and the spine, of the world
a typist creates, and a writer imagines in his soul,
where the former has an unknown bearing and suffers
no toll.

I displaced your thoughts not because I could,
nor because I understood, I did it because I am reckless,
I did it in poetry's place, because to call you in prose
could never satiate what the composer proposed.

Madman before mad men, pitchforks and fires in angry homes,
where they begin, before their machines of sin,
I am the well of the unwell, I fought for, before, and tore,
your kin.

Candles, courting beauty as her dress trails the heaven
before the floor, grace in a body, undressed for us mad men.

I don't read,
because you took my eyes,
with well thought lies,
you dug at my heart like something you despise,

Darling, I could have called, you
underneath the blood you hated and so spewed,
darling, my darling, my blood curdling darling,

Can you see me, or hear me,
am I still breathing, I think
I am thinking, and maybe I am smiling,

Thought I'd take you for miles,
or walk them endlessly,
but the dirt and six feet is in what you envelope me,

Final letters written without a care,
I see your back, and I am either dead,
or I stare.

I promise I won't let go...
I know there's things at our throat,
and our backs don't have much further to go,

It looks like there's cliffs waiting for us,
I don't think things will be good for us again,
but if you told me infinity was at my back,
I'd press forward to the never coming end

It's kinda like drowning, or having emotions poured into your head,
kinda like hypno glasses spiraling in reverse,
releasing feelings into things we don't comprehend,
basically it hurts.

Tell me it's a dream, like back then,
when
covered in sweat, I realized you were right next to me,
I could sigh,
and not believe, I had relief,
from this life,
just hearing you breathe.

and now I look back, to my greed,
when I couldn't read, how your stars aligned,
to the beauty it was, that we'd even meet,
before a park, before a quiet street,
in front of a beautiful field, with your warmth to feel.

How could it be me,
I know I said thank you,
and even then, I begged you'd never leave,
but these fires started with footsteps that lead to me.

Fingers, are they not rays of sunshine,
or at least so delicate,
your finest lover, if her or his were crushed?
is it not so much more a travesty?

These simple vines, strumming until they're embedded,
beating with a soft but forceful start,
all for the finality of a drop,
that begins where the heart stops.

a goodbye to eyes, an eternal recess from the light,
you **** the chorus in our minds,
hoping that either one of us finds,
you again.

I got one for you,
it is my tale,
the tail of a demon or dragon, I'd like to fancy,
probably something much more benign like a squirrel,
dare I say he's fierce and fancy,

Perhaps a monocle in the eye,
and style that grazes the periphery of glancing eyes,

Has a bold tree, with bold and brash leaves,
belonging in the heights of glory,
with a halo atop,
of course the rising sun's glowing, naturally,

Fun for the sake of it, life,
but a break of it,

Rifts waving from underneath your pits,
right there in the heart, have we all equipped,
the same care to stop and fidget, to play against
the rules of the play, without saying I quit.

The clock is ticking,
the realization is what hurts the most,
I can fly through the seconds,
glide past the minutes,
scratch through every waking moment,
and yet, it is looking at it that draws any blood,

My hands, I see you cracking,
under the pressure of merely existing,
all these words, coming from us millions bored,
consequences of living, both sublime and repugnant,
subliminal and explicit, corroding towards the same distance,

Snap, twang, click, slap,
exploding, all to the same foreboding,
shadows and dark notes,
singing down the same halls,
crying to loves of different names and different faces,
all for the same tears and tears.