Id trade my secrets and sacred playlists but sometimes you have to sin in the right direction. I’ve been asleep like an underlying theme and I’ve been ablaze to the point of silence. The fabric and seams serving only to obscure the magnificent reality that we or I am both the artist and the artwork.

But I’m only hollow words and goddamn bones. I have a vicious love with a soft heartbeat to try to make up for what I lack. I’ll always feel you looking over my poems with an eerie smirk. But my love affair with the ocean that you loved to watch dresses my body in faded threadbare jeans and the favor of fading from memory.

Everyday I buy more boxes and more trunks,
to stow away the harmless opinions and stories of mine
that have never left my mouth,
and have never known
how the cold air of this world feels like.
They are better off not knowing
how they are going to be broken and crushed
till nothing of them is left.
Let them die in the voiceless trunks.
At least a corpse of what they were
and the soul of what they lost
shall be locked in the same walls.
That’s the only kindness I am capable of delievering-
to spare them the purity of meaning
and dignity of thought
that was never put to question
and never put to shame
by this world
that to everyone does the same.