The end of a beginning,
The solitude of a heart -
When the memories dwindle...
All that I knew of you,
Begins with love -
And ends with hate.

up so high in a nest
the birdy sings of heading west
doesn't want this life that's been made
laid out so plain
saddled with the guilt and pain
of disappointing the ones who got him there
but looking down the view isn't so scary
and the risk outweighs the wary
of staying
betraying
his dreams
one last night he lets his mother tuck him in to sleep
yet when the moon creeps
across the world
birdy spreads his eager feathers
without a word
and was never heard
from again

I have always yearned
to make music
maybe
I just don't have any music to make
Simply so much to say
but no courage to converse it
in need of beats and melodies
to camouflage
the vulnerability
that I present with my words

Darkness, when he sobs,
turns his sadness into storms,
his tears into rain.

most of all, i want to listen to your voice. anything you have to say. recite your grocery list, what you ate for breakfast. what’s your opinion on the weather? remind me about how you like the snow, but hate the cold. how you couldn’t fall asleep because the wind kept whistling through your broken window. tell me the story about how you broke that window again. again. again. how you hit that baseball too hard and it went soaring. tell me about that moment. the moment that it looked like that ball was flying. how’d you feel when it crashed? no, don’t tell me about that, i know it’ll make you think of the crash. how i crashed down on the concrete when we were walking that one night. i was barely conscious, so tell me about how you carried me a mile to my apartment. if you have to, tell me about why you left me there alone. how you’d asked me on the walk because we “needed to talk” and you had to do it that night, because she’d given you an ultimatum. don’t tell me about how you’d stayed with me that last month out of pity. or if you do, let those be the softest words you speak. softer than the things you whispered to me months ago. softer than the way you touched my cheek before you left me on that bed. tell me again how touching me made you sick those last few weeks and please assume that i felt the same. because every time i think of the truth, every time i think of how it wasn’t over for me, isn’t over for me...i love you. i can’t breathe. don’t let me speak. don’t let me speak. i only want to listen to the sound of your voice. keep talking. say anything. tell me all about her.