When the ice melts,
will you still be here?
When the fog lifts,
will you still be clear?

I don’t have any words
left to stain
these pages.
I don’t have any hearts
left to give
to strangers.
I don’t have what I need
to finish
this story.
I don’t have anything
except
these empty phrases.

I am on a journey
to fall in love
with words once more,
to see each letter
as never before,
to sleep in poetry
and wake in dreams,
I am on a journey
to retrieve my beliefs.

This temporary moon
lights the fickle sky as
a sad, familiar tune
fills the air nearby.

It is a terrible thing to be so lost that not moving seems to be the safest choice. It is a terrible thing to be so still that life passes you faster than you hear your own voice. It is a terrible thing, yes, but terrible things have been conquered before.

I break all that I touch;
what my fingers linger on,
collapses within itself.
My voice is a blade,
ripping through fabric around me:
A deafening noise.
I shall retreat into myself,
in hopes to destroy what destroy;
A strange phenomenon:
Kill what is yours
to smother what is within.

The moon waves over the city,
her lights glowing back,
telling an old story of glory
that grew where history sat.
Waiting for a change in air,
a new breathe to be believed.
The moon waves over the city,
her lights fading back. 

Yesterday I wandered through a
forgotten corridor of my mind.
I left a trail of fingerprints in the
dust: A symbol of the layers ignored.

I lived in a place once
full with ghosts
of haunted words
stuck on each soul.
I lived in a place twice
where being human did not
count as a reason
to feel.
I lived in a place
where a state of
secrecy ruled.
I lived,
I left,
I carry it now.
I live in a place
full with ghosts
of haunted words
stuck on my soul.

I try to find words
but instead
I find a purge
of every feeling
I thought I knew,
but feelings aren’t thoughts
and thoughts are what brought
this silence to my ink.