I'd say I passed
right through you.

Could you feel (if it killed you)
heat from burning bridges.

Ghosts reached
out of pity giving matter
to tie me to this slowing stone
before I floated by.

I'd say I passed
right through you.

I'd be fooled into thinking you could feel:
I could have sworn I saw
you
blink

And I'd rather be on fire
disintegrate within desire
than circle such a great, unknowing  

drain.

I've sought after you for so long
Years bled from my mind
As I drudged from wrong to wrong
Years bled out my eyes

I dreamt every night
Hoping every other one was you
I dreamt every night
Would jump off the train
Tear myself apart
Rank with a sickness
**** myself
And lie to all else -
just to meet you

And I did
Again and again
Another gun to my head
White whiskey
****** and salacious
For nothing but the hope
That I never thought would be
The hope of you

And then I stopped
Looked up, crawled out - crawled up
And ran to you
I found you sitting next to me
And for the first time you weren't a shadow of a dream of a hope that would be - that it was
You were someone I knew once from a life or two passed
And now you're here
And now you're not
And I love you as I always did before

I could write about returning to the country of my birth, I could write about a place. I could write about the chilly air, i could write about the tiny house. I could...


...instead, write about returning home. 

My home doesn't consist of rooms, no floor, no beds. No, my home had two blinking hazel eyes. My home had the purest heart. My home cannot be returned to. Dad, my home, please return to me. 

"The world is not a wish granting factory" -TFIOS

If I could return home, father would welcome me in with his warm embrace. his glinting eyes would smile.

I sit here crying, wishing, hoping that one day I, like the rest of you, could return home. 

They say in heaven, one blink to them is our lifetime. Dear father, please, blink.

My friend of ink has become static...
her words have faded.. still moving
but no words will now feel emotions.
She has moved on to a place more
than any spoken word...

I will read all that was before, we argued
more than a married couple, but were
friends of poetic verse...
She was taken, before her last verses were inked
on the white, the collection on verse.

I will miss my friend of verse, she was the opposite
of my ink, the contradiction of my words...
I cried when I learnt her words were silent.
But in my thoughts she will always make my
poetry better, she was my friend of poetic verse.

The storm has passed. Its     surrender was swift
as chalk wiped away     from a wet, slate board.