I have a poets soul,
I am willing to bleed my heart out
Onto blank paper
But the prospect
Of speaking my mind
Leaves me shaking.

This soul
Is thousands of years old,
I have lived a lifetime after lifetime
And have died a hundred times over
Yet the thought of the grave
Shakes me, inside and out.

i'll tell you that if i start crying
i won't be able to stop
because the salt that pours from my sunken eyes
reminds me too much of the river
where i used to spend my afternoons dipping my toes into the water
and i'll say to you that if i sit alone
for even a second
i'll start recalling memories
putting puzzle pieces back
that i thought would never fit
i'll yell at you and say that
i want to go
and look out at the barren dessert beneath
my small feet
and i'll ask you to tell me not to wear that
because it reminds me too much
of when i wore it all too often
the night i arrived
the night i left
i'll say to you
don't let me read that
because i'll internally die
from something you didn't know could **** you
i'll notify you that i desire something
a wish an untold fortune
lastly, i'll do anything for you
because i want to go home
and when i do...
i'll never come back.

967

Pain—expands the Time—
Ages coil within
The minute Circumference
Of a single Brain—

Pain contracts—the Time—
Occupied with Shot
Gamuts of Eternities
Are as they were not—

Calligraphy of geese
against the sky--
    the moon seals it.