Words

It's funny, I wrote an odd little phrase of poetry on the fly maybe a week and a half ago which didn't really make sense to me at the time. I get it now. That's funny. It goes:

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I can feel salt water kisses humming under the skin you haven't met yet, you being the possibility, potential energy fogging up the future.

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...and to most, I'd bet it still doesn't make sense, but that's okay because most don't matter.

Last night I wrote something of a bit more substance which has been caught in my head and heart (haha!) ever since. I didn't give it a title. For now, I'll call it

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Words.
Words sometimes need to be carved in before the cœur can care. The greatest moments of my life will always strive for cinema scope, and as the curtain falls on you and me I swear I can hear carnival music drifting in. I follow it out the window, close my eyes and float through people's hearts, trying to memorize all the words tattooed there by time. At last I become one of these blades, making tiny ink-cuts in your memory. All these scars I've seen are so beautiful, I dream of kissing everyone I meet. My heart will be such a work of art, such a conglomeration of instances ingraved into self, it will make you want to laugh or cry. Which of the two, I leave to your discretion.

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Rebbi said that heartbreak makes for wonderful art. How much richer then, will this have made me?
I can't think of a good way to end this.