“Brushstrokes”

It’s the witching hour
When words reach me
And demand to be written
When my heavy beating heart
Spills out
Hitting the page
With purpose
And cause
In a language too few
Can truly understand
Where truth
And consequence
Paint a picture
In shades of blue and gray
And my shaky hand
Claims to be the artist
Playing the role
With grace and eloquence
I live inside the madness
Embracing what is real
What is not
Committed to the addiction
Yet truth be told
It is a paint by numbers world
In which I dwell
The only risk I take
Painting outside the lines
Blurring the colors
Dulling the image
Leaving the spectator puzzled
Questioning
What
Is
This
Really trying to say

"Sleepless Knight"

It’s 1:37 in the morning
Again I lay here
Idle thoughts
Tuesday into Wednesday
I’ve built up some sort of tolerance to sleep
Unwanted
Awake
Dreaming of your face
Listening for your key
Yet I know
I lay here
This empty bed
Aches
Like me
To feel your warmth
Beside me
Inside me
I molest my pillow
Dying to believe
Will this suspension of disbelief
Sustain me
If I could only dream
We’d be dancing
Laughing
Doing as we do
And if only for mere moments
We’d be infinite and untouchable
Disturbed by nothing
I’d reach for your hand
Exist within your kisses
My eyes wide open
I’m reminded this illusion
Is real
Existing somewhere
Awaiting our arrival
My sleeplessness surrounds me
But the dream
We keep alive
Even from this distance
Your whispers find a way
To reach me
Like a lullaby
I’m lulled
To close my eyes
And try