The word for dying
Seeps in-and-out of exsistence
But these poems can never be long
Enough to express.

Feelings.

This pavement is mine
Made of sharpened glass
But I forgot my shoes today.

Pause-

Moments long-passed, my feet are broken now although your reading on. I weep help;quietly as my hands begin to bleed thoughts with you,

Strangers--

You're blank pages seeking commerce and familiarity with someone else in anonymity. We're just passing fiction in sadness missing all the

Important

Things.
Because I let fear win.