I remained
a bud,
a pup,
a mere silhouette
of the imaginary.
I limit
the heights
that can be
conquered by my grasp.
Oh,
how I stopped growing
to stay
in love.

What now?
- now that
we have grown
smarter,
wiser,
and
irrevocably
out
of each other?

I've been through a couple
of motorcycle accidents-
breaking my ankles,
bruising my rib,
putting my flesh into
giant assaults of hurting.

I've been pinned down
by horrendous silver needles
on cheap hospital beds
for times I have lost count on.

All of these and more,
were like nightmares
and they still are.
All of these and more,
were sickening phases of agony
I don't even want to remember.

But,
on how is it that each of those ache
resembles the echoes of your Goodbye?
I don't know.
I wish not to know.

I have never been sick enough to die,
before you.
I have never been in an accident
more disastrous,
than you are.

If you ever wonder
how deeply
I feel for you-
Know that
I am shaken enough
by the depth
of whatever doom
I have fallen to-
with bruises clinging to me
as tattoos-
with hurt breaking me
like bones-

There is no such thing
as a bad writer,
just one who isn't sad
- not sad enough.

I see
the saddest colors
in your eyes
and
I hope
you wont see
the death
in mine.