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

I know that you were there in my dreams and in my arms Every dream we

I see words screaming for attention etched in the lines of your face Let me look closer

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

You asked what I knew about you and I thought up a list of twenty things

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

I’ll keep searching for the meaning of life and I hope I find it as crumpled paper nearish a trash can

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

Autumn sneaks in preceding dormancy Leaves take on new beauty with nothing left in them but a fa… Individually insignificant