when someone dies, you never really feel you did it right
the life you gave,
the plans you made
the darkest, deepest nights

when someone dies you always wish the time would just go back
it sounds cliché
but that's the way
you feel when it goes black

when someone that you love is gone, you just can't make it through
a single beat
without retreat
into the pain made new

when someone that you love is gone you have to feel regret
to say you don't
or swear you won't
is just the coping lie you've set

I'll always want to bring you back
I'll always wish you here
its crazy how the mind plays tricks
after you disappeared

but worst of all you're oh so close
you haven't died, but live
I've got the power to bring you back,
but not the strength to give

which grasp
has hold entirety
depends
moody I am on
Beethoven
immensely beautiful
wandering amiss in his dreams
I feel voyeuristic
red faced caught
looking in the boudoir
glass at my sister
and her young lover
or among tall grass
with heavenly  harped angels
silent breeze clearing my forehead
on the shore
the birds whistle
soft the surge closes
on sand and makes love
with the sun glistening
rapture
and I blush again

challenged me, the bully did
to describe air
or anything

my lungs filled
and I stuttered
me

I am all I don't know
and everything
is infinity

your hate is real
your hate for yourself
take a breath free

hit what you don't understand,
hate it with every fist
break everything in two.

then look upon that
sudden rush the freedom felt
when an epiphany

is right between your eyes
he stopped
eyes crossed

trying to take it in
and kicked me in the nuts.
Suddenly ,

I knew what air was.
I needed it so much.
A girl drew near.

Asked if I was
all right. I said in
a really high voice

hells no!
I can't breathe!
she placed her lips

on mine
and pushed her lungs
onto mine

then the bully came back
and having caught my
breath , me

and her raced like the wind.

Van Gogh painted in shades of blue
added speaks of light, I presume is you.

to the softest clouds floating
the whitest greyest beings
like I
who look down in reverence

at those pillowed truths
a dream remembering
their beginnings
their everything

try just trying on
to say in the righteousness
of man's limited vocabulary

one thing that echoes
through the last rays
the first of suns
glistening

as much
as bright as blindingly
magnificent

though impossible
much like the draw
of the bridge

the pull of gravity
we don't understand
but strive

to put on paper
I am your
follower