bereft and forlorn

hopes to me now are no more than a dying sun
so scarce for me a love that loves another one
with each grace in the world you bring
there's not an emptier song that i could sing...
...if my hand is not nestling in yours
if my sands are not laying in your shores


i have never wanted anything i couldn't have as much as this


as how a crescent moon awaits a perfect full
alas, time to me proves to be no less than cruel

harbinger

life, some say, is about assurance
and reassurance
but if things do not go your way
i hope you would fall on softer ground
if not in my hands

bracelet

i always thought that this feeling of longing is a form of amnesty.

a painful restitution for wanting you, what it really is.

i miss u, still

prior

when he says "im ok" when actually hes not
and you can tell by his gestures
and the places he chooses to be
then you'll wonder what made him so wary
until you find his little brown book
and read the first entry that reads...
"if it means that much to you, i would"

satin skies

but i saw a rainbow today...
i could have sworn it was you

different turn

which way to breathe please tell me
i didn't catch you the first time

self-loathing

it is far simpler to ignore than to forget
which is both too caustic and erratic
it is easier to shut down and sleep
than to turn around and weep

my gift to you is absence
and i wish the same in return
at least for now
when i am not thinking for myself