Both of us lost

Words comewhen the winds comeand trace their fingertipsup and down your skin when the spell of drygets quenched by the gulp of your tap waterwhen words form and dont say a thingbut those feelings spun by the heart etch themselves in writing amid the desolate desert of lifewhere no flowers thrivewhere there’s no rainbut the

International bright lights

International bright lightsopportunities flyunknown wishes coming trueunknown where I’m at

Lost lovers in the dark

I know you’re not real But I’d like to believe you exist out here in this great wide world, somewhere. Maybe you’re the every other person that’s walking down the street. Maybe you have a billion eyes of all colors. The howling of the wind is a song Written and sung by you For me

The hazy blue world in Europe

She was a blonde high-school classmate who wanted to become a missionary one day. On the bus ride home, she told me about a time when someone she knew got into a car accident and almost became decapitated, or was decapitated. I eventually learned what that meant. Those days were cold and grey from what

I show a side of me

It’s been 273638 years, and traces of you run through my veins Like rivers branching through the landscape from long lost reservoirs It’s been 282738 years, and thoughts of you are buried underneath this earth over layers and layers of transitory sediments Only you can uncover a side of me that’s deep within That only

Can’t find you

It’s useless; every other emotion that I’m feeling right now. I don’t know where to find you. I’m lost again. I’m seeking beyond the pages printed with dry scientific words. I’m skimming through the shopping catalog plastered with fake beautiful faces. It’s faster than the car ride that can’t seem to fly higher; tastier than

Lost, Low

I’m suffocating my love, in delusions and illusions. There’s a northern fog that looms inside the empty vessels, that navigate towards my heart. I reach out my hand; but the window panes get in the way. I’m dying my love, bit by bit, My heart breaks, bit by bit. In fragments I recall vague, sunny

Understanding my mother

I see the words fuzzily dance up and down, slowly, in the computer screen ahead. I sit and stare just as she would, for what seems like a long time with no other plans in my life. And only then, does my mother make complete sense to me.