words at most
are sign posts
never touching
what's real
minds watching
yearning to feel
and at least
the beasts
of burden
I'm sorry
i beg your pardon
i didn't mean those words
that cut to the bone
the words said in anguish
the words that you moan
love has its own language
that communicates by touch
you speak to me
you tell me so much
the words I weave
are a cry for help
please don't leave
this is what I felt
fault lines through and through
cracks in my sentences
words no longer the glue
the endless relentlessness
of thoughts
circling like sharks
they haunt
my deepest parts
the weakest heart
pumping out words
of dread
this is what I said
you said
the words that line our bed
sleeping on novels
we are apostles
of language
tell me how you manage
all your words
how do you discard them
with such ease
no gratitude
no need
your smile
sells more
empty words
than I could ever write
I'm never right
how could I be
when words are all I see
so please
use your lips
to silence my sentences
wrap your tongue
around my words
i promise you some
you've never heard.

She was the Rose in my heart
and the thorn in my head
for her it did bloom
for her I have bled

When she no longer shines
and tears no longer water
the heart it begins to die
the Rose it starts to wither

One day she will rise
but when nobody knows
then she shall shine again
and my heart will be a Rose

They say talking to yourself is a sign of madness, but who cares what they say no one else can hear them.

a man cannot live on bread alone
nor upon his enemies bones
the marrow of which seldom makes
a feast in which he can partake
the flesh and blood
of his fellow kin
are formed from mud
and infused with sin
planted in the soil his feet
to which Apollo waters
and the master beats
on to the slaughter
hand in hand
and eye for eye
until we can't stand
until we all die
until we all die

the time has come
but what for
when time is done
you will want more

theres never time
for nothing much
you'll never find
the time for such

as time is short
and in the end
it can't be bought
yet time does mend

its time to go
once its begun
only time does know
the setting sun

after all, time will tell
*but keeps its secrets oh so well