August 11th

when we awake from this dream the sterile light of dawn is nothing but a painful reminder of what was lost.

honesty is a terrible sword to wield, cutting both the teller and receiver, leaving jagged wounds time never quite heals.

so it is, we are born alone only to die alone. seeking those singular moments of bliss in connection, ever so fleeting then gone.

on the day my book was released i sat inconsolably sobbing alone, wondering what any of it is worth when silence is all there is.

2 thoughts on “August 11th

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