My soul has not returned. I left it somewhere between your fingers and lost it in your crooked smile. It burns daily with your cigarettes and the blunts you roll awkwardly. It cruises with you, daily, listens to your music. My soul has not returned. Pieces of it will forever be found in your eyes and your sweat and other hollow pieces will be hidden somewhere in the back of the sound that your heart beat makes.
I find it hard to write nowadays, mostly cause I find it hard to pray. I do not know what to say to my God.
” I miss the poetry in your voice and the power of your hands”