I could never tell you
exactly what's going on inside my head,
so I'll write instead.
Drown my thoughts in paper & lead.
Keep my hands alive,
and my expression dead.

The reminders we set on life calendar,
        to show why we live for this moment.
As if we were unaware.We may forget
                       this is the moment to live,
      not the forget me not's.
        That a lights gone out,
being our own,
          and the days we counted on are bare.

We set reminders to ourselves to make sure
                               that everyday is precious.
That we awaken day-today knowing its a page
that turns on the calendar of our existence.

"Remember we are only pages,
                      and everyday they turn or were empty,

a body
of
stories

Before, I wrote of Masks.
Mutilated stories of written flesh.
A carnal retelling of misfortune,
In the pages I wore upon my face.

Now, I am just another Mask.
A solo sonnet amongst scoreless faces
Beyond them, a broken boy
Hostage to disharmony.

A deep, heavy sigh, erupted
From my choked throat,
My forehead lay on an opened book.
I wish to be lost inside it.
My fingernails dig into the open crease,
Trying to crawl inside.
To be released.
Into a world where my heart has belonged all along,
Into a world where I can do what I'm meant to.
I devour the pages.
Hoping it would consume me
While I consume it.
Release me.
Release me from this world so existent,
Physical and realistic.
I smear the ink along my pupils
Hoping to see a new reality.
I sew the pages to my back.
Hoping to forever lean against them,
When I need to be taken away.

And do me a favor,
write me
in your letters
and keep me
between the pages
of your diary.
Right where
the dead rose lies.