A Book Falls
A book falls, I fall.
The proper thing to do is to pick it up, dust it off and hold it close to your heart.
Not me, not this time.

Words bring forward stars to forge a world from the ink, breathe, your heart will write.
A book falls, I fall.
The proper thing to do is to pick it up, dust it off and hold it close to your heart.
Not me, not this time.
I feel compelled to write about my new tattoo, especially because a couple reactions were, “why him?” Follow me on a short but wonderful journey of self discovery and mild ink addiction.
Although I haven’t climbed these stairs in years
they always sound the same
under my feet,
creak and splinter,
in the same spots.
Oblivion would be greeted with open arms,
and you will be turned away at the door.
I can no longer tell if this shadow
hidden
somewhere deep
was created or always was.
Relax
here’s a small pond
The water feels like needles pricking every inch of me
but never strong enough to rip me open
I never kept track of our kisses.
I can’t remember which one
was the last.
The pain is not a secret.
Although I throw scarred leather
over these bones,
the angles of my heart still rip through paper
It finally happened; the girl’s gone mad.
It took one moment, took all that she had,
and amid the sunken stars that fell from the sky,
you can sift through them, find reasons to cry.
My sanity is no longer with me. Fatigue masks my emotions, leading me into a gentle and numb state as I leave my apartment.
It’s a chilly morning, somewhere between autumn and winter. The gray sky seems to glow brightly against the silhouettes of the trees. As I walk along the railroad tracks I kick stray leaves out of my way. My legs stop and I inhale deeply. I exhale, watching my warm breath mingle with the cold air and flow upwards into the sky. I’ve thought about this before of course.
Many times.
Push through this skin
and paint a picture.
Finger painting
with blood.
It was all a young girl knew.