I was just an option.Blown easily to piecesand offered to the skyby the sweet laced painupon your lips.

Through windows, in wishing wells, whispering in the wind...that's where I find you.

In that wounded place, buried betweenmy ribs and letting go, I miss you.

I die a little, In the echo of your silence.

I can't love anymore.Except for you...I love you so much it hurts to breathe.

Bridge burned from end to end, and I don't miss you anymore.You delivered silenceI've birthed freedom.

You are the poemthat sticks in my throatteaching me to whisperwith the voice of my heart.

I've never seen beauty so devastatingas in the linesthat trace our hopeand fall from the stars.

Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.

Broken.As I search for hope, In the same eyesI lost it.

I build boxesand place them at your feet, to measure the distance between dreams and reality.

They didn't understand what they were doing.I'm afraid that will be on the tombstone of the human race.

Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done.

Good madonna, give me leave toprove you a fool.

A thought of #hatred must be destroyed by a more powerful thought of #love.

You're drinking vintage Elvis Presley wine.

A lion is not a lion is not a lion. As individuals, as mates, as members of a society, they're all very different.

We fear death, yet we long for slumber and beautiful dreams.

Hatred is keener than friendship, less keen than love.

It's been tough for me being away from the game.

What an ornament and safeguard is humor! Far better than wit for a poet and writer. It is a genius itself, and so defends from the insanities.