You do

I don’t know how to make words melt into honey
How to take blankets and chairs and make them talk to the sun
How to put someone else in your museum mind and give them a tour
How to raise demons and calm seas with pen strokes
But he does

I don’t know how to give my words dreams of their own
How to write a book that cries before its reader can
How to carry responsibilities so mountainous they crumble down around themselves
How to breathe, and appreciate each oxygen, carbon, nitrogen molecule
But you do

I don’t know how it feels to be sure
To know what you want and where to find it without journeying to the crevice of minds and back
To know how to reach goals – with what haste and what spare time
To be able to say, with confidence, ‘I know’
But he does

I don’t know what it is like to shoot heroine
To feel the warm rush of toxic relief race to your chest and spin through your skull
To fade into a dark oblivion
To cover track marks with long sleeves even in hot aching one-hundred-and-five degree summers
But you do

I don’t know where I’ll be in ten years, or twenty – in the ground ten feet deep or ten thousand feet high
If I’ll still be on this path or have chosen another
If I’ll remember the years I spent pining and pacing, looking for help in the darkest of places
If I’ll still see you or have found a new muse
But you seem to

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s