I have no damnable words to make my voice
fit the sorrow. My heart had the audacity
to open, and then beat itself to life.
There isn't enough suffering to make anything.
pieces of beautiful scattered and kept both and I
have no room to belong to his smile.
.Or maybe just I
are not breathing and the night
never ends. Nothing changes,
These eyes used to see imagination's miracles
trembling; motion; moons; hands; leaves.
often I speak dreams now useless and how love
must simply sit waiting so refined and unadorned.
but I become undefined and more unclear.
and I blur in his eyes.
and I cant focus.
I move. Grow old. Die
Unbelieving. eventually unfeeling. body at rest
but soul imploring more...
of anything.......but distance.
. .there is a voice i hear
incessantly....caught in my hair.
It takes me to again.
and over. and over.
I know we have already died numerous times
unrequited. and unknown. and these words feel like cotton.
feel tasteless and pointless.
but they are words, and words are all that stick to my skin.
after all the places he touched. my God, i am treading air.
living is a chore. loving is a risk.
and i want to rip everything
away from the world except the truth.
which always resided in him.
depth is endless.
the end is nothing.
and if i can bear the quiet,
maybe the residual fire will keep me warm enough
to teach me that silence is not so terrible;
it is a language that could resurrect us all