I'm an old soul writer
with a backyard pen...

I coiled my soul in the depths of madness,
walked upon sharpened blades of glass...

I remember the day so clearly,
a broken nose and bruised eyelid...

I abandoned my smile
ran away with the moon...

I'm writing this display
of visual artifacts...

It helps to listen
as much as it helps to talk...

Her face wore a blizzard
as the curtain bid adieu...

She's as tiny as a
speck of light...

You were a soft spring
that spoke to me...

If the nights were as dark
as the thoughts that linger...

Mental anguish
suffocates my...

She completes the exit
in a soft whisper, as her...