Fluttering
Light and frothy...

One thousand whispers that suddenly, steeply
Slip from my lips, could never compare...

I've written many of these poems
Enough to prompt Hyperbole...

I am exhausted with this sickness
That I have hidden deep within the catacombs...

The Scribbled lines, penned and signed on colder...
Intertwine, A gossamer and shimmering web of hurt...

I hunted through the scribbled lines
Of words left ringing in my ears...

The sound of scratching pencils echoes throughout...
Insignificant, but some scratches mean more than...

Some days, I wake up
With sunlight wrapped around my shoulders...

The luxury of raindrops
Against my burning skin...

This drunken dream of red petals
and black satin ribbons...

I Only hear you when you're silent
For that's when you speak volumes...

Yes, the world will still spin without You.
But it will be a little darker...