Writing

A.  All the attentions arise

B.  Being brave I close my eyes

C.  Consciously clearing my throat

D.  Desperately trying to daringly float

Where does your hope lie?

Is it in the gentle pelt of rain?

Where does your hope lie?

In something solid that remains?

Where does your hope lie?

Is it in the food you eat

Or the cloud-free sky

sunday nights are my own.

old music in the corners of my mind

pen scratches on paper, ten thousand poems

two hundred and seventy-two

little golden lights, 4 walls

that mirror my soul.

I fight everything 

To not turn back

To not run away

But my eyes still 

Land on her face

My feet become rooted 

In the ground

My heart twists

In my chest

Sometimes I dream of you

Our future, our past, and us now

Usually I end up breaking apart 

Listening to your words

Making my world hell

And then I wake up

The truth floods back

the doors

are left open

for him

to walk through

and brightly lit

with all

he will ever need

when beside him

there is a girl

stumbling through

a dark hall

unable to find her way