• Such unseen things.. to be dead like me.

    To waste away, and taste dismay, then stumble back again.

    To reach for hope, mid-air above our cut throats, and slip on the glass you broke.

    To sweep up the pieces, to choke on our grievances, to waste this lovely day.

    And hanging in the spring air, much like wind chimes and young love, are our young hearts- ripped, beating, from our rising and falling chests.

    To be made of unseen things.. These unsung songs.. Become me.