This melody; these lyrics,
I know them word for word,
from a love-time ago,
for it tells a story of you and me,
not through words,
or melodies,
but through memories,
beautiful in of themselves,
but poison me with painful nostalgia,
I hate these songs,
they smell like you,
make me think of you,
deleting them from my playlist,
was the first step towards,
making new memories,
and singing new songs,
without you.

No one knows me,
like the pages of this book,
the tears that fell,
the tears that wanted to fall,
the meaning,
the feelings,
in each letter,
the intent,
in every word,
the surprise,
in the end,
good and bad,
poetry,
is my escape form life without pages,
because I don't know when my story will end.

Hey,
what's up,
it's not the same,
this way,
I can read what you're saying,
I can hear what you're saying,
but I can't hear you at all,
the look in your eyes is silent,
the pain in your voice is silent,
your laugh is silent,
I can't love in silence,
I cry when I realize that,
I may not hear you again.

Even when I'm lost,
I come back here,
to these pages,

I tell them about you; my love,
about me; my lust,
write down my thoughts; my loss,

so even when I'm gone,
you can always,
find me in these pages,

hear my cries; my tears,
share my lies; my fears,
feel my love; my dear.

a study of angelus

to the reachable Heart

of a fresco.

overexposed with

new colors beating

off a purifying white.

deeply meaningless
   American Abyss

             miss

Motivation isn’t to do
It is to think about doing
Just like strength isn’t to speak
But it is to be silent