You can be the river flowing down my skin,
but how do I begin to tread waters that I have once drowned in before?
You make sinking feel like a dance with the sea.
Waves do not always come before the breakdown,
but somewhere there is a storm
and my heart is always sighing at me.
Puddles,
puddles of ash.
Dear love, I am burning on the inside,
and I have grown so used to the sting.
You can be the river flowing down my skin.
You can be the river flowing down my skin.

i didn't want to lose you
but sometimes
i forget when my prayers feel like
they're just cigarettes
they'll take the headache away,
then turn to ash,
but they bring me back to life every time
i find a new light,
but then they bring up my past,
and i fall further
and further,
and further,

until i'm afraid to get back up because
i don't want to fall again

The smoke does not bother me
any more than
the burning flesh
The scars will heal slowly
beneath my clothes
and I will turn my head
the other way
should anyone notice the ash on my skin
or the limp in my stride
because they are the only things you have left to control me
and I will heal
and I will move on
After all, like pain
you are only temporary

Tiny pieces of you
Linger in my very being
Burning embers of brimstone
Sulfur fills each breath
I stop to smell the roses
They turn to ash at my touch
At you within me
Particles spread as I cough you up
Multiplying in the air
Dancing with joy
At their new-found freedom

Tiny pieces of you
Rotting my soul and consuming my spirit
Burning pinholes in my brain
Memories burned away
Shadow of pain still sore, still raw

Lingering, lingering, lingering

Blueberry bluebells
sing, imperceptibly
sighing
against a backdrop of
quiet cerulean.

You know
it is Spring when
their hazy grasses
sprout beautifully
thick in the blades
between the primrose,
and when the sun
infuses shafts
of bronze to the lilac
through the giant
ash's baby
leaves.

Ash,
A beautiful sight,
A horrific one,
Floating around like snowflakes,
Remnants of death,
And destruction,

That's what I am,
Ash,
A simple word,
Yet so full,
Of feeling,
Despair,
Hope,
The toppling of things,
A new beginning,

Ash,
Grey,  
The perfect in-between,
Tears,
Of sadness,  
Of joy,
The falling of tyrants,
The rising of new hope,
And occasionally,
Love.

i write letters to you
sometimes
with the stars
do you see?

i write letters to you
in the winter
with the trees
bared of their leaves
brown-black
against the white sky
do you see?

i write letters to you
ink against my skin
a tattoo against the curve of my neck
do you see?

i write letters to you
in every poem
there is at least a line
that is meant
for only you
do you see?

i write letters to you
and keep them in crumbling
books
on dusty shelves
mixing
with someone else's words
do you see?

i write letters to you
in books bound
by synthetic leather
shoved in the second drawer
beneath my mirror
do you see?

i write letters to you
and i leave them
in their envelopes
to be mailed into the fire
do you see?

i want you to read all of these parts
of me
with ash
graying
your calloused fingers

As much as I love snow
I know it has to go
Melt away from me
Vanish into nature's keep
Dwell somewhere deep
Beyond the rockface steep
Also in my timeless sleep
Floating in my dreams

Will it hurt less and less
Every bygone winter
My thoughts are stressed
My heart is splintered
But sometimes I feel
Like the coldest steel
My missing snow
As the flowers grow

In spring water I drink
At the mountain's brink
Sometimes I feel it flow
In newborn streams aglow
Sparkling in nature's mask
Just before the dark
Hidden in evening mist
Escaping my clenching fists

And the wait is long
Time a distance strong
I pine for softness white
In the crisp chilly nights
Wait across the seasons
For unknown reasons
So I take some matches
And give myself to ashes