There’s a poem in me today; I know it. There’s a poem about a smile which makes my chest ache and a corpse somewhere that barely resembles a body and a loss that I’ll never truly know.
There’s a poem in me about a man that scares me and a nervous response that I regret each time it forces my face into a smile.
There are novels in me about lives unlived and restless staring at a blank sheet of paper as the stories fight amongst each other instead of preserving their selves.
There are worlds in me that you’ll never know and souls that I will never touch and lovers that will never meet without me.
And yet I file away at the edges of the days until they are dull and blunt.