he’d been alone so long his lips began to die.
his eyes wasted years learning the language of color
the sunlight would always demand his affection but his eyes would never leave the ground,
instead his eyes wasted each day forgetting what colors were

forgiveness is the life jacket for anyone who wants to swim through my mind

if words weren’t enough, my lips would begin to die, they would slip slowly away from
the eyes that have long forgotten how to read colors, they would fall anxiously past
from the seasons of all my regrets, they would franticly drown below the tides of all my mistakes/grief
they would be buried(cuddled//rooted below the dirt,,
left behind in gaias womb until the day -our sun is sadly/namelessly/shamelessly buried,

sleeps in a coffin of a different number of zodiac signs
hums the tune of each moment (that i chose to) my love

should my words be found by the being of the future, I would hope they see them as notes to be played
by the instrument of gods/a higher/supreme divinity.
everything I love will dance in immortality, my passion will become the rhythm that makes planets swirl/rotate,
my forgiveness will become the tempo that makes stars twinkle, my undying hopes will become the serenade
that fills every nebula with color, and my privilge, of sharing even a single
moment with someone so perfect, will become the fingertips of a god who (apparently) loves bad grammer.

upon the stage of our cosmos
if words aren’t enough…then show me anything that might have a chance to be…

if words weren’t enough, my body would recycle the sands teeming beside the bone marrow
if words weren’t enough i’d waste the rest I have left squeezing 65 minutes from an hour
if words weren’t enough id sit in angst for the world to spin so fast I fall off of it
the sun would never be hot enough for gardens waiting to blossom,
the moon would never be bright enough for secrets to ever been uncovered
the walls you built around your insecurities would

if words weren’t ever enough, history would struggle to forget the literary militia of gramatic terrorist

the walls your trapped behind would be shorter than my insecurities, ready to be knocked down.
I wished words weren’t enough for you, but they were
if words weren’t enough, loving would be at the bottom of my bucket list,
cramped/hanging beside each reason that is never enough for me to let you go.

if words weren’t enough, each day would be impeccable, because nothing greater than the emptiness
i have always known would brick stairwells I have no interesting in stepping

because the fact that they have always been enough seems to brick shortcuts for moments more
horrible than the last, only to be written
seem to sucker punch the bottom jaw of every paper never spaced with lines close enough to
ever string my pride together

the lines of every future love note I plan to throw away would be found wrapped around the throat
of anyone marching in suicide

of all the bodies marching in suicide, the sheets of paper will be left empty, and the entire world will
never read a suicide note again, they will be left, only, with the rack of now empty paper, and
you’ll know they did this because the empty sheet will be used to explain the simple idea that they felt empty

if words weren’t enough, the world would never have to read a suicide note.
there would be an empty sheet placed neatly beside the departed as the lines from it
the lines of every reason that love has been unable to hold them with would be found knotted around the throats
of each body that hangs from their ceiling. the definition of emptiness, will be feared, known by the now
inkless journal entry that will always appear more empty than the body it hoped to fill
used to express the emotion we are all too familiar with.

if words weren’t enough, libraries would become concentration camps for the poets.
they would swim upstream in agony as currents of misunderstanding pour over their face.
their uniform will be the face of curisoity, and genocide will soon dance about the piles of skin
mutilated with battered wounds from hands of an illiterate militia.
AND MAYBE NEVER OPEN YOUR MOUTH NEAR ME AGAIN BECAUSE IM….listeng to a song that died before i took my first breathe
and…i like talking with my mouth full
full like the way i love, because its all i give, openly, and willingly unl;ike thess know as de mpnarchs of an eletric regimin funded
by poker chips, im NOT AFRAID TO LOVE, im not afrida to feel,
im not afraid
because beauty is overrated
oh nyou have insecurities join the fucking club its known as society and nothing feels better than embracing your ugly.