Die blind and blacken to the heart:
Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained thoughts
The honey of peace in old poems."
- Robertson Jeffers (1887-1962)
i remember writing the letters, the last summer.
nothing worth reading.
the pain and the tears burned away
the pieces scattered out the window, like ashes
at a burial. it wasnt real then.
this time it was suicide.
i can smell the blood
we can't heal the wounds
nothing worth remembering.
choking on words, on tears
nothing worth reviving.
i wanted to be fearless
but im full of fear
on the other side of death
waiting to wake up
for you to whisper in my ear,
it was just a bad dream
it doesnt have to end like this
you started it.
can you make it stop?
no one can help me but myself.