Befor the sadness kills us both....

It is so easy to see the cracks in the sidewalk, the way the tree roots come up into the sun like blind moles. but it is nearly impossible to see the darkness underneath, the way the dirt cowers damp and rotting below, like a secret, a foul truth. Nothing lasts forever but the distance makes it hard to stay, the wall around my heart grows higher than Rapunzel's hair can reach. Falling as the ground comes up to meet my body like a bed, the green of the field like a set of cotton sheets. If I were to be honest, I would have no words to speak. My mouth should be as empty as a tomb, company to only dusty bones, spiders in the shadows. If i have a disease, it must be the disease of over exposure, the poets of yesteryear would turn in their graves to hear the angst that completes our "greatest poets of our day!" nominations. My emotions bubble up through the cracks like a tar pit too long ignored, creeping and gliding across worn concrete and dirt. My mouth moves and yet, I have nothing of worth to say, the words crowding my tongue and slicing up my throat, razorblades and muck. I imagine it much like India ink, coating my chin and staining my shirt as i struggle to make art. The razors cut my throat ever deeper.