This book will be filled with the
faces of those who are only
kept alive through my incompetent
words and futile thoughts

Your body is in my mental coma
and I think it’s about time
I pull the plug

/

No words can encompass
the amount of love
flowing from my fingertips

But it is wasted
and filling up the cracks
in the sidewalk

Strangers will trample
my misplaced intentions
and how can I ever be okay
with only seeing you behind
2 inches of museum glass?