The closest I ever feel
to anything
is to the words I write.
When I am a million leagues
into the depths,
and there is nothing,
nothing to do
but carve these letters
into the floor.
No,
nothing.
Nothing more.
Words ring hollow,
and melodies fall flat,
prayers (un)heard,
another test.
This too will pass,
but while it stays,
while it tarries,
black is bequeathed behind
my eyes
my mind is marred
in manic peril
and I carve these words
into the floor
one more time
one more time
once more.

there are so many of you
that i would love to sit down with;
maybe over a milkshake and a plate of fries;
and just talk.
i want to ask you about the boy that hurt you,
about the anger you feel deep inside
over a father who said he’d come back...
and then didn’t.
i want to run with you through pages of words and say
“oh that’s right, what a lovely metaphor.”
i want to see all your smiling faces and
thank each and every one of you for showing me kindness,
for saving my life.
i want to collaborate on novels of poetry
and laugh with you through the tears of our pasts.
so until we sip those milkshakes and eat those fries...
thank you, to
some of the most beautiful people i have never met.

and when you,
are forced,
to put on a smile,
be buried in graves,
of your own words,
every minute feels like,
scratching your nails,
on rough,
hard rocks,
it feels as if,
your head will burst,
as if,
you will start bleeding,
it all happens,
apparently,
you stand there,
still,firm and straight,
but only you know,
that inside,
you are screaming,
shouting,pleading,
for aid,
but how come they know,
you are hurt,
they are blind,
blind from the real eyes,
blind from all the pain.......