The hands of this watch haven’t moved since the last time you did and I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear the ticking

I wish you had told me that on the good days kissing you would make me think that I knew what happiness was and on the bad days

I would write a sweet poem and title it with your name if I loved you at all

Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin

Just when I get back on my feet you pass on by and I lose my footing Again

I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back

If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing

Hope in another form but no fewer letters and I’ve been hoping for these past eight years so I’ll just keep on

I hope this is postmarked before my death certificate is dat… but you’ll know why if it is or if it isn’t If you get this in time

I’ve kept my eyes closed most of these past eighteen years because I find it just as dark

I see no joyous rebirth in spring for autumn will bring another death I see no joyous rebirth