cursive is the best way to describe my pen
because only the quaint wish to read...

i seemed to like it.
the way you looked away from me...

she crawled like a myriad of bugs
across my skin, biting with her beaks...

1
if these lines could speak...

i was undeserving of her touch
as her life was a grand oasis...

i
I may never understand...

and weighs waste to the air
as you can still smell its epicenter...

me and my heart found her stariwell
its easy falling down a few steps...

i
let me lay waste the final tapestry...

echoing distant sounds
if I screamed would she hear the uproar...

i smelled like clean crisp pine trees
and she was my forest fire...

I'm a whisper in a dark room
where my words spark smoke...