space

 I cant write

about ordinary things anymore

and i cant decide if

its your fault 
or mine.
 
The keys are dead
and the pen is dry.
I guess all people come apart
eventually.
leaving just empty bottles
in rooms with no room.
with lamps with no lamp shades.
 
it is all blank paper
like dead leaves
that want
in ways that are so heavy
they shatter diamonds
and freeze the fires
into cold marble 
statues that stand
forever for everything that is
so alive that it kills you
to know that it exist 
in every way
with out
you.
 
I cant write because the 
space between each letter is filled
with doubts and
beliefs stoned grey
like weathered
tombstones.
 
The space is folded over
with terrified loneliness.
and worst of all 
the space is
filled with
space.
 
Just space…
 
You have eaten my
moon and stars
and sun.
 
The only thing I see now
is the space between us.
 
I am baptized
in want and desire
for you.