I am not a poet.
No linguist, nor painter of the written word...

Blood covers my hands, my fingers trembling.
My throat is raw and burns from stale acid...

I know this may make me sound desperate but
There is a part of me that will always want you...

Colorblind.
It is how I have lived my day to day...

I tend to the battered outline of my heart,
Meticulously shaping it to an acceptable form...

I promised myself that I would be gentle,
That I would no longer punish myself for taking my...

The cavity in my chest is filled with carbon.
But my eyes still leak shades of aquamarine...

March 17, 1997, under the four-leaf clover,
- a symbol of faith, hope, love, and luck...

Who knew something so small
could be the highlight of the day...

The only lie I can guiltlessly tell is one where I...
That each day is the straight and narrow...

My seduction is slow and steady, teasingly so.
Until their heartbeat and vocals fill the room...

Most days are tainted with silent tears,
The world again stained in technicolor pain...