I read

very carefully

the words

you write,



it is like

walking through

a ditch of

broken

pieces of

glass that

have been

thrown before

me.



i wish

you were

here to

guide me,



because

with each

piece of

you I try to

pick up

and hold

I bleed.



such are

the edges

around your

words.



but I bleed

gladly,



it is something

I do for

you without

question or

hesitation or

doubt.



so I

will stay awhile

on this page

with your

words tonight.



your poems

offer much.



and if

it kills

me I

will be

standing here,



waiting for

you someday



when you

walk out

the other

side.