Inside I feel so big,
My feelings are so big,
But I am always left to
Feel like I'm small,





I am so small.

If a picture is worth
a thousand words,
is a memory worth
a million?

I am rich in words.

And in letting you go,
I have been struck with perhaps
the greatest melancholy
in that I have started to forget
the sound of your voice

You're a cigarette and I
can't find a patch.
You taste foul in my mouth,
my tongue is dried out and my
words taste like tar as your
name rattles out;
I feel sickly satisfied as I realize
I have nothing else to scratch my itch.

You are
You have always been
a bad habit.

I quit.

I once read that
there is a wrinkle in time and
ever since I've sought to
parse out the clock's seconds and
feel every whisper of wind on
my skin and
sneak glances at sunrises through
blinds and
taste snowflakes and rainstorms and
wrinkle my nose at
good and bad smells in
Time's wrinkle and
gaze at moonlight twinkle.

I got over you and then
realized there was no one
to get over to
and allowed you
to reside in the
forgotten corners of my mind;

you're nothing to me, but
you were everything, but
everything became nothing, but
I made that nothing
everything for
fear of being nothing
without you.

I want more than I need and
I feel nothing when I bleed;
finding feelings I buried
six feet deep and I see
the things I neglect to feel
in my sleep

High strung off
loose ends,
constructed of foundation
condemned,
I am the puzzle with no edge pieces,
my crying is tearless;

Is it possible to be terrified and
also fearless?