There is a truth,
in our story.

Treasure in your confused,
curly hair.
Honesty in rain,
that falls on your face.
Finding perfection,
in your sky blue eyes.
The veracity of your voice,
expressed in silence.
Faithfulness of your soft skin,
that quenches my thirst.
Genuine movement,
of you is smooth and knowing.

It is a fact,
a complicated dogma,
that in this doctrine,
we are whole.

In this conviction,
that no rocks could dent.

We are making something,
we both need.

You never were here.

After you cut the cake,
was our fate sealed?

Did it hurt when you,
realized…

What was your thought,
one second before?

Did you ever really,
laugh?

Why did it take,
so long?

How did you look,
at him?

Who are you?

Who am I?

We left it empty…

It's gone.

Our dream.

If I gave you my soul,
would you read each page?
Scribble notes of interest
and know me.
Would you take the time,
to help tape the seams?
Would you mend,
the fragility of my soul?
It tears and rips,
easily, emotionally.

I’m sodden newspaper,
heavy with time.
Mucky layers,
that pull apart in chunks.
Masking detail,
of stories of my soul:
Hymns of love,
transcribed in invisible ink.
Mastheads that yell,
like father did.
Fables of summer in the wood,
when I was a boy.
These are my columns,
my life.

I was drunk once.
Drunk on love,
drunk on lust.

I was drunk,
warm and full.

You were sober,
cold and empty.

Make no mistake,
you reveal yourself at the bottom.
It's dark and cold,
your pale with black hair,
And **** yellow eyes.

You float,
in your prison.
Void of breath,
and golden rays.
Bringing life,
and color.  






You’ve hit bottom.







Below this,
you feel helpless.
As a trapped animal
waiting to die.

The weight I carry,
was all for you.
Now you left me,
at sea.
I’ve drowned,
months ago.






In 2018, I hit bottom.







Below this…
Glass like,
motivation shatters.
Further you fall,
into darkness.
Your voice,
no longer ripples.
Let it take you.









How much further?








With struggle,
I can’t sink like a stone.
There are souls,
who need me.
Your hand pulls,
me down, it's heavy.
I kick you,
I punch you,
I struggle,
to let you go.
Your grip is,
loose and careless.
Like the past three years.

With a swift kick,
I am free.

I


Let


You


Go

On this day,
of 35 years.
Humbled by,
the cycle of death.
I place my foot,
on sodden wood.
Embracing,
the November wind.
It's cruel and nips,
at my blue fingertips.
There is something,
new and also blue.
That pushed me out,
into the deep cold sleep.

Your eyes.