If Love Would Leave a LegacyYour lovely crystalline bones,wrapped tight inside chilled casing,laying strewn against old cherry woodwith company of lover's notes upon your lower lip;a last caress of parchment as we bury you in earth.Goodbye my love, Goodbye,words that refuse to leave lips chapped and clamped in mourning,as silent and white as knuckles curled in trembling fists.Reddest rivers slink sultrily down tight airways, filled with aching hunger,and sliding alongside sores of salivated lies,where I swallowed all my silent sobs in concurrence withthese barbed and yearning sentiments.It was nowhere near enough.Regret shall rid unsightly bones until somedayreunion brings souls superficially together;adjoining beds of cherry woodwhere I can desire you to depths of resolution.and it is nowhere near enough.
For Want of a Better WordI want to stay sad foreverSoft as the clouds, deeper then the oceanBeyond the human experience, there's a feelingPassing time, when I was threeNothing cannot be defined, it just slips awayStop, silence, nothing, everythingWords are just conjectures of the mind, sound is just vibrationExperience is just an illusion, thought is just an ideaBreath, stillness, everything, nothingIt is here that you will find, what you have always been looking forEscape through the door onto green fields and the pouring rainRedemptionEvery moment that passes brings you closerDivide me into half and release meI want to stay sad forever
Skeleton/Vapor"Whereas you do not know what will happen tomorrow. For what is your life?It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away" (James 4:14)You could trace each of your veins with permanent marker, a crossed out road map,a black web missing its spider. You could trace your fingers on the wet ink and follow your bloodas it leaves your heartand slides down your arm then through your fingertipsbefore it reaches the pointed edge of a yellowed finger, taking a second to appreciate thescenery.Make sure to color in the vena cava, the jugular, the knifethat bit into your finger one summer choppingtomatoes (It's just a cut, girls. Daddy's okay, Daddy's just fine). They bore into youwith worried hazel-green x-rays, splashing the silhouette of your skeleton on the garage door,like a bomb blast that left your shadow behind and searching for a new body.And surely there is a child out there with marker up her arms,lost in the middle of the supermarket,callin