You and your wordless words - you
give them all to me when you
say you have none within you.
Your mind is a swirling pattern
of that non-existent voice, and
I am the comet, shooting through
your atmoshpere and becoming a
storm of fire, in delight as
words hit me. I don't know
if this will burn me up, but
all I know is that I love the
feeling of being on fire again.

I weep a thousand tears yet they
never touch the earth.

They dwell within myself, not
falling trickling upon my soul.

For if they were to collect in the
stream they descended from.

My soul would surely drown,
and I would be submerged in sorrow

I am dying within this body, and
it is only made worse by my terrible
indecision. I had never felt love
until that warm month of March, and now I
find myself with love for three.

First. You, my love, my starving, lonely love.
I love you, I miss you, I need you, yet
I cannot give myself to you because
you love me too. You love me more than I
thought was possible and, for fear of breaking
your sorry heart and cracking your icy
eyes into rivers, I cannot tell you.

Second. You, my love, my resonant, blazing
love. I love you, I hear you, I see you,
yet all you see is her, so I am not
allowed to. Your song ignites when she is there
and nobody exists or matters other
than her. Your graceful dancing is enough
to make me keep my silence, so  I cannot tell you.

Third. You, my love, my fleeting, dying love.
I love you, I know you, I want you. I
am counting down the days to tell you. Every
second, every moment, every hour of
every day is spent waiting until I
can tell you. You are everything to me,
setting me on fire and embellishing
me with your warmth. But now I remember.
I have a love for three, those three sections
of my own world which I know so strongly.
Therefore, I cannot give myself completely
to one walk of life, and I cannot tell you.

You are falling down a rabbit hole of
hatred for yourself, and I hate you for
it. I hate the part of your mind that turns
you against yourself, for you don't deserve
it. I am at the bottom with you, for
every pace upwards I will be there
to push you, but I fear that I will not
be strong enough to keep you upright for
the time it takes you to return to your
strength. I grow weak, and you sap my strength from
me unknowingly as I become increasingly
tired and lose the will to live, drained by
the parasite within that will not let
me truly connect. Can't you see that I
am bound by the black sludge around my tongue
which coats my words and keeps me locked inside?
I fear that I cannot help you, for I
am nothing except the waiting -
waiting for my time to die.

I never thought it would be like this, but
writer's block has become a person, and
you are him. You take my words in a wisp
of the wind and they whisper away from
me. I put my pen to paper and the
ink turns invisible as I move, for how
could I write something beautiful about you
when you are capable of being every word at once -
an entire dictionary with only one meaning.

He felt the rays
of the sunlight
as He watched her
set foot in his life.






     --ismahan