birdlike bonesit's like youwrapped your fingersaround my throatand then hadthe nerve to ask meto breathe.
RegretOnce, you were my everything.I was blinded by my need.How could it have ever worked,When we could never touch?You were my fantasy,My dream love.I still don’t understand whyIt had to end the way it did.Our beautiful loveSplintered into thousands of nightmares.I know I was the one to break it off,But I’ll always regret we changed so much.Why did you drive me away?Did I mean so little to you?Or could it be I dreamed you into being?All I have now are muddled memories,And more missing pieces…
Daddy, am I pretty?Daddy, am I pretty?"Daddy, daddy look at me!"She laughed and twirled aroundDressed up in her dress-up clothes.Daddy didn't make a sound. "Daddy, daddy look at me."She told him once again."Daddy, am I pretty?" Asked she, feeling empty within. "Yes." said daddy flatlyThough look he never did.She ripped off all the clothes,Ran to her room and hid.Daddy never came To ever see if she was fine. In her floor she laid.All she could do was cry. Daddy didn't love her;She knew that in her heart.It's not right for a five year oldTo feel broken, torn apart. Although too many years have passed The story's still the same.I called only when I needed himBut daddy never came.Now my dreams are haunted With that broken little girlAnd her horrid misconception ofThe best daddy in the world.
the writer's diseasemy conversations becomeblurs of i-miss-you'slittered on the cold floor of empty promises.you deserve something more thansilhouettes of words, casting shadows onto my heartfilling it with tricks of lightthat try to hide away the darkness.sit down and stay for a while--except i'm going to gobecause i never learned how to keepthe beautiful thingsfor more than a little at a time;i'm left chain smoking words like cigarettesone word after the other after the other,exhaling them all with my cancerand my thick, black lungs.and they say a cigarette takes seven minutesfrom your life--yet these words take memories from mine,stripping me bare of the way you said my nameor the way you touched my facei read you poetry in the dark, oncefingers curled around wrists and hipsbreathing words onto your lips as if i couldkeep you, as if i could wrap you upin the network of stars that made up your eyesand get you to staybut you could never stayand we both know it isn't something
seabonesyou told me to walk on waterbut all i did was sink to the sandy bottomsof the salty sea.the brackish water stung at my eyesand filled my lungs,seeking refuge in the spaces between my ribs.i remember barely breathingwet inhales and slow exhales of the briny seathrough slightly parted lips.my heart was lost in a century-old shipwreckfound through the haze of floating sandgranules that looked like dust in sunlight,fingers wrapping around wood and forgotten memories.i wondered if this was death,ocean water pressing down on the hollows in my chestworld moving in slow motion through teal colored lenses.you told me to walk on waterbut all i did was drown.
The Broken Things InsidePoor child, you have no idea what's in store.You spend your childhood feigning adulthood,Watching your mother smile with her ruby-red lips,your father reading the paper and drinking his coffee,thinking it's so wonderful, so fabulous,you want to be just like them,but you are unaware of the woman your father has on the side,how your mother cries every night,biting at her lips to keep quiet and that they'renot red from the makeup.You have no idea of the broken spirits thatwalk around with empty eyes,I'm fine, they lie, often enough that it's believed.'Fine' is now warped,sitting on the stool of words that meanplease, please save me.The shiny life of adulthood is an untruth.Poor child, I have no way of sparing you this pain,for my heart's already dead.I'm sorry. [ Time kills hearts, it's inevitable. ]
imaginemy vacant fingers missthe press of yourseven if it was onlyin my mindthat we weretouching.you were mine, therefloating happily througheyes squeezed shutbecause you wereright there with mebut now you're not.your fingersare pressing intothe dips of her spineand it's notfair.you said you wanted toalways make me happybutall you did wasmake me cry.