DEATH TO SELF I see, hear and feel the truth, but it does not set me free. Rather, it pricks my heart with a finely cut dagger. I miss the you’s through out my life, all those I’ve had to say goodbye to. Why? Why…

It’s one of those nights when I try to forget you (when I try to set free the stars of your memory)   The ink flows and speaks of you   you become my muse   And I’m left with a notebook full of you….

Already the pressure is felt, seeping into the corners, the crevices of my mind. I cannot speak, or act or write. Thinking becomes short pressed between breaths unchained thoughts without anchor and purpose. Bleary, unfocused sight calm, yet angry movements stalk my memories, allowing decisions…

Cold water washes my feet The super stubborn sand Still sticking to it The smell of sea fills my senses The smiling sun tickling my skin Hearing the sound of rushing waves I let my mind wander To the time when we Used to make…