suicide is a forest fire
& honestly Sarah...

when my hands lay
they lay, they hold on the gravel...

not particularly fond
of the best way to describe this...

1.
a countless slumber...

we let the color red bleed through the quilt
where her lips pressed closely among summer...

i
let me lay waste the final tapestry...

if I was just another sunrise
where the water reflects...

sleepless nights only embrace the idea
that i too know what its like to live under a...

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

if only laying on the beach was still enjoyable
where a summer breeze flows through the sand...

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

calling bipolar by its name
is giving it power...