A slow breaking and mending
of blood and bone
fit for the poorest
of ivory souls.
Pour tomber, pour courir,
pour mourir; no less!

No one, to you,
do tell.
A dream,
perhaps a nightmare,
that died in your arms
much too long ago.

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Why're things getting so strange, so suddenly,

and why am I so surprised

when the truth is

I saw this all coming

the minute I decided to start keeping my mouth shut?

You talk but nobody hears you,

you reach out but nobody grabs hold.

You're left hanging so often

that the fear is paralyzing.

I guess I just figured that the only surefire way to stop failing

was to stop trying.

I guess I need to learn how to love unconditionally. I guess I'm scared.

I hope I'm not too late.

Or too lost.

I sort of feel like I am.