your words exactly:
"i believe our paths were meant
"to intersect,
"but not to sustain.
"to touch,
"but not to cling.
"to meet,
"but not to unite. "
and i still love you,
despite.

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't

To be able to save someone,
When you need to be saved.
To help someone live,
Despite the suicidal thoughts in your brain.
That right there to me,
Is the true definition of strength.

His spirit resides in us, with us,
even when we no longer know who we are.
He carries us through the darkness,
is with us until the new morning
transforms us into who we really are.
A child of God.

It's insane
But
I know..
it's wrong
and
I keep doing it
Regardlessly

Rain drops on my windshields
Blurring my vision slowly.
Off they go as the wiper is On.
I can now once again see clearly.