Every day, people fall in love;
Compose beautiful symphonies exalting the descent.
All I can hear is the somber echo of my own voice, reverberating in the air.
A piano key struck, the note sustained.

I can still see his hands on the keys, practiced and deliberate.
Mary Had A Little Lamb dropped my jaw.

I still don't understand why bad things happen to good people.
In time, he will be gone,
And even now, he is gone still.
Protecting me by hurting me.

Every day I live his death.
Every day I break my heart and tell him to stop scraping his knees.
Go slower.

He wrote me a letter: "Dear __, I know".
He stopped there, but I never could.
Nightmares of words that filled those pages.
He closed his chapter while I tried to write in the margins.

Please do not stop writing; finish that letter.
Tell me there, or in the space between our fingers. Tell me what need be told.
End the story, or start a new one, but please do not stop writing.

Want for affection.
First, inspected;
Discovering flaws leaves lips barren.

I feel broken
Shattered
My existence split in two
One lives with him
And the other quickly fades
A whisper in the dark
Of my hollowed breast
These things should never happen
Words erased from language
Pain drawn out in syringes
And burned in brilliant holocausts
We did not ask for this
For the eyes of God
To shadow our lives,
Apparent pity abound
But no mercy from His hands
Where are you now, O God?
How doth thy affection lie?
Prostrate on the ground,
Bury my face in unholy text
Chanting diagnoses
And the time he has left

She's not pretty like an aurora;
She's pretty like a hurricane.

Yeah, but I still love her.

I count down
Days on the calendar,
Each it's own reminder;
Rows of red X's march
Across April like
You must march each morning.

The possibility hangs
Like a cartoon piano overhead,
Waiting to plummet down
With its true crushing force.
Hear the clang of
Misfired keys,

And there will be no more
Wildflowers pressed,
Sent away in sealed packages
Alongside smiling photos
And handwritten postcards
Entailing sentiments that only offer

Temporary comfort.
There is no security
In the promise of return
When it's told from lips
That have lied this before;
No solace in hands

That deliver folded flags
To crying former wives
Who prayed like I do;
No hope in eyes
That have seen unspeakable,
In headlines shouting nightmares.

I feel like you
Don't take serious conversations
Seriously,
Unless it's serious
For you.

*laughter