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

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

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

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

There is something to be said of a true friend One who will pull the knife from your back One who will stitch the wounds

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

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

I get my silence in five minute doses before the plane overhead brings me back to earth

If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains

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

So much time passes without feeling a single thing that I think I would give anything

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