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blank words.

The feelings are there,
but the words aren’t.
How can you share understanding,
if you can’t put it in sound?
How can you share
the things inside your head,
if the words come out jumbled,
and plain;
when what is spinning
around inside your head,
is kind of like seeing the sunset,
on a soldiers folded flag,
while his widow weeps,
and the world comes together
to mourn him.
It’s like that.
it’s beauty and pain,
hope and rage,
and how do you put that into words,
because even this,
just isn’t enough.

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#fromthedraftsfolder

Your words burn my soul like bright flame to a lone sheet of paper, mottled with eraser marks and pencil hearts. It is as though you have reached bare-handed through my skin, taken my heart between your fingers, and opened it to my very being. Inch by inch, your words unravel it with the same finesse as an angry sea with a sailboat. I would beg you to be kinder if I thought you would hear it, but I know that my words would fall far short of truly reaching you. You would sooner rip my soul to pieces and leave the pieces to the Devil rather than see that you are no better than the others. You speak of peace and love and truth, but you would sooner have me drown in the ocean rather than believe in peace, or give love, or search for truth in anything other than what you already have found.

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good thing.

i am tired –
it has been a long day,
one still going.
i am afraid to put you in words.
i am afraid of the ending.
inevitable,
but then endings are inevitable,
always.
to be present inside those moments,
has been refreshing,
an orgasm for the soul,
if you will.
i can see the light in the tunnel,
it’s irony, really,
seeing as how i’m just
trying to stay in the dark,
wanting you to be endless,
the kind of forever,
i don’t really believe is possible,
ill say it anyway,
you’ve been a good thing.
such a good thing.

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alive.

there are people who say that
you will forget words and actions,
but never the feelings.
those people are right.
i can barely remember your face,
or your touch or your laugh.
i can’t remember the depths of your eyes,
or the way you smiled.
i can’t remember the shape of you,
or the feel of you against me.
i can’t recall the moment that i decided
that i. wanted. you.
the first time i saw you?
the first time i kissed you?
the first time you touched me?
no, i can’t remember much about you at all,
except that for a moment in time,
i was alive.
i was trapped in your fire,
burning and smoldering,
and yet,
i was more alive than i had ever been.