listen to the world around you
listen to the silence
the sound of everything
but people
smell all that reminds you of your favorite people
listen to your heart
the outside of your head
include those who suffer silently
and feel your connection
maybe someone's heart had hope today
maybe that's why I'm writing this
no one can feel me except them
maybe God listened
nobody knows how i feel except him
maybe if we weren't living life with a heart of a poet
we wouldn't have tried to let go

he feels like a dark russian film
his emotions are directed guns
only when he likes to shut me away for two days and a half
he leaves me with a memory of him
like a forked road
first road
is my way to a good old friend i no longer know about
second road
my way through forgetting
a bizarre dream i've had years ago
in between, I found the love
that tore down my innocence
for it wasn't the love
that gave you butterflies
only golden beetles and cockroaches
you would have no chance to cringe
and I couldn't bring myself to hate him
his love was unconditional
or there was no love at all

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.