I'm feeling afraid
that if I started writing
I will never stop

the letter always bled for her for her eyes (brown as those old bottles in the medicine cabinet) bleeding words like teardrops yet without spilling onto the green tile floor those words always pure only staining the paper glossy black ink blood like muslin stuck to an old wound those words always strong yet blurred, obscure words only a scholar would find obscene

happy are those who die because they have returned to those first crumbs of dirt that fed us to that first hole to that soft black and smell of coal

i have a face cut from ice
a heart pierced in a thousand places
so to remember
always the same voice
the same gestures
and my laughter
heavy
as a wall
between you and me

the ones who are most alive
seem the most still

behind the milky way
a shadow dances

our gaze climbs toward the stars

It'll be a big show
for watching my life fall apart, But you just turned around
and didn't help me get up
I wonder,
when will I go back and have a good start?

Back at it again from the scratch
For you know I do not understand a lot
of things and such.

No one asked me why I tremble and shake,
why I feel a constant ache.
They told me that hearts are fragile but
it never, ever break.

You must wear a beam of emotions
upon your skin
just like when your heart is tucked
underneath that shirt sleeves
I want an escape from reality
and have long rides with my fantasy.

I try to think of all the possible criticisms,
until it hurts and go numb
I assure you that nothing will ever go
against me.

maybe home isn't where the four walls are at
or where your family lives in

maybe it's somewhere you once stayed when the downpour was so hard
and you need to stop by for a while,
nowhere to be found
yet you unconsciously found a comfort instead

but little you did know
that it is geographically located
within you
in your chilling bones
and burning heart.

For now,
it's been waiting for you
to come home...