LV Letters – Four

I wrote down every letter
in curves and slants in a
constant repetition of the
words I longed to say to
you – the characterization
of every verse loaded with
a kiss, a promise, and a
meaning that would only
fall apart with punctuation.
Every letter was bleeding
in blue ink from my mind,
hoping for a chance to be
read by you, to be seen as
though you alone could see
into my heart and realize
what kept it beating – but
words are only words until
put into action, and it was
just one of the many love
letters, I could never send.


It was such a gentle cleansing,
with fragments of my former
self, falling in line with the rain;
the wind blowing and leaving
scars of days past, in debt to the
life I left behind, repaying my
sins with a promise of another
sunrise, one lasting chance left
to blow if the winds should shift
so slightly. It was a buildup of
my mistakes falling before my
eyes, dropping from the heavens
to show their past disguises and
remind me where I was headed,
with the passing of the storm.

Toy, in attachment.

Caught between lifestyles
of silence or whispers gently
rocking me to sleep, I was
burdened with decisions that
I had no control over – I was a
puppet playing with my own
strings, tugging and pulling,
alone with my thoughts in a
constant contemplation if the
only decision I had left in my
pocket was to allow the strings
to break. I didn’t want to flee,
it wasn’t in my nature, but my
wrists were burning from the
weight, and I was in need of
some comfort – I just didn’t
know if I could still rely on
you to be the one to save me.

In Direction

I used to have a guided path
but my light burned out moons
ago, and I haven’t a match to
spark an idea – so I continue
walking, hoping for help from
the falling stars to hold my hand.
The terrain is rough and battered,
but my feet are worn in, so I take
one step, then one more and just
continue walking, waiting to cross
paths with another – holding onto
the idea, that they’ll have a light
to help me find my way home.

Four in the Morning.

After days on end, searching for an
explanation to the blue pen marks
at my whim, I have found solace
in the only truth at my disposal –
I am exhausted from missing you.
Your name has become synonymous
with silence, so I shout either out
towards the heavens, hoping for
three sparks of lightning, perhaps a
lone thunderstorm following the rain,
dropping down in smiles and buckets,
washing away memories drenched
in debris, so I can write soundly in
the midst of my blue inked dreams.


Four a.m. comes
roaring through
my dreams, waking
up the sounds and
feeding on the
silence, spouting
promises and lies
on endless repeat
until I can’t
decipher in which
direction the sun
will come up; I
am in a trance on
autopilot, with
my heart in the
heavens, waiting
for my clearance
to come down.


with a push to the winds
you are pushing back,
fighting for the control
I never once let you have;
becoming a master in a
game built for two, being
played by us three, and
I am at a loss as to what
the rules are anymore.
all I am capable of doing
is to keep pushing, hoping
that you’ll continue to push
back, and to fear the day
when you no longer do.


I am at my saddest knowing
that listening to others opinion
is still ruled in favor of following
your own heart; not being able to
love or laugh beyond memories
cast twice in words and written
in the shadows of the moon.
We have nothing left but time to
fix, yet unless these words are
whispered by another they are no
longer truth, but rapid successions
of a lonely, still beating heart.

Nineteen (In silence)

I couldn’t describe your absence
between the vowels in silence –
a sharpened dusting of gray
rooted in the crevices of the
carpet to the popcorned ceiling,
screaming out memories of images
faded and burned at the corners,
dancing down the halls at a
quarter past two, most nights –
breaking vases and picture frames,
leaving shards of glass on the
floor to shine and gleam from
the light of tomorrow that
seems to never want to return.
But just as I’m befriending the
darkness, the sun rises again
taunting me with wordless sing
alongs about times months before,
begging and baiting me to join –
illuminating the apartment with
paintings on the walls of what
could have been, and what will
no longer be – and I scream.
The silence may be broken, but
your absence is still teasing me
between the vowels of moving on.


In an ice induced blaze,
I am struggling to keep
my head from drowning –
my feet are dangling,
grasping for any ground
to grab hold of;
my arms are stone cold,
too stubborn to grasp.
I was never the warrior,
too timid to fight back;
but yet I’m supposed to
keep fighting for you?
Give me a blade, a sword,
a word, or an anecdote –
I have nothing left beyond
a sigh of defeat
in a barren cause.
The cold too much,
the flames too high,
my battle never finished.
I have lost – a great burden
on the hopeful and enduring.
Now let me rest,
or leave me to drown.