Hey,
what's up,
it's not the same,
this way,
I can read what you're saying,
I can hear what you're saying,
but I can't hear you at all,
the look in your eyes is silent,
the pain in your voice is silent,
your laugh is silent,
I can't love in silence,
I cry when I realize that,
I may not hear you again.

Even when I'm lost,
I come back here,
to these pages,

I tell them about you; my love,
about me; my lust,
write down my thoughts; my loss,

so even when I'm gone,
you can always,
find me in these pages,

hear my cries; my tears,
share my lies; my fears,
feel my love; my dear.

a study of angelus

to the reachable Heart

of a fresco.

overexposed with

new colors beating

off a purifying white.

deeply meaningless
   American Abyss

             miss

Motivation isn’t to do
It is to think about doing
Just like strength isn’t to speak
But it is to be silent

Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body’s treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason,
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
    No want of conscience hold it that I call,
    Her “love” for whose dear love I rise and fall.