Hello

Hi.

No, Hello.

Dear, maybe?

Hi, I'll go with hi.

The ink bleeds from the simple letters

H and I

As my thoughts stand up in their seats

Screaming and roaring;

Begging to be made into tangible ideas.

Pleading with my fingers to be permanently expressed

in a way he will be able to understand.

But my fingers don't move.

I stare at the H,

Then I stare at the I.

What next? Should I pour the black filth

Encapsulated in my lungs onto the pure page of white;

Naïve in the same way I was before I met you.

Or claw my nails into the depths of my

Splintered lungs,

Find a piece of my heart that I still have left,

And gently flick it on this plain sheet?

Would that get your attention?

Hi.

No, hello.

I tip my pencil

And erase the word

Along with the possibility

of sentences that I long for you to know

In hopes they will be erased

from my mind as well.