In my dreams you sing to me
my darling, how long has it been since the end?
when was it when you said we could just be friends?
you're moved on, and so had I, I thought
but is it worth fighting a war that's been previously fought?
in my life you own my heart
my life, my soul, my body combined
are all yours for the taking,
not given by me,
yet given by grand design
my works, my dreams, my hope and despair
all bright fruit upon my tallest branches-
yours to pick and have
if you're strong enough to climb back up
into my mind which shelters and comforts you
only when my thoughts are for you
Ice shavings rain down
on a piece of a forgotten mirror
the fog settles slowly; making a
haze on the shattered pieces
her face was etched into the smooth glass,
and a single tear drop floods down my face
as I see a fog settle on it
(almost as if she was breathing)
when I hear your name
I'm reminded of ear buds
hanging from a smiling mouth
and the mysterious wonder of what could have been
it's all wrapped in a bow
always in tow
no matter where I go
it's there to haunt me
what if I had stayed
when your mind was leaning towards the empty nozzle?
or what if I ran
at the first signs of decay
sometimes I think we'd be better of
yet sometimes I think
my hopes and dreams for you
and that you still love me
so I cannot pretend
that I don't love you any more
used to lash across my chest -
shredding everything it touched
and every night
she would bandage it
only to tear it off again
when morning came
letting the old blood
the dry sweat and tears
be torn apart
only to be replaced with the new
We dance on
the ocean floor
our step graceful and slow and slow-
a blissful ballad
that turned into skirts flailing and shoes jumping-
a hysterical waltz
spinning around and again,
at first I thought this meant we would never let go,
yet when you spot a better dancer
standing near the punch bowl that was spiked with
something your friend brought on the bus
you traded me for him
and I saw the corners of your lips curl,
when I hit my knees in shock
with every match that strikes
more ashes are added to the pile.
building, slowly, churning into a mountain of pain.
sparking, lightly, inflaming into a world of regret.
with every cut that's made
more blood is added to the mix.
fusing, harshly, creating a deadly poison.
weaving, steadily, into the twine of sin.
how can my phoenix-
so young and tender, full of life
be met with so many lights already?
the first when you were young,
and your grandmother passed
the second when your stepfather destroyed you,
and left you for dead
there are many in between, but the last..
the last that I know of would to of had to have been me
when we loved and fought, yet stayed side by side
yet when one love came along, and you were gone,
I gave up, and tried to move on,
but now I realize, I should've tried for you
instead of leaving your ashes on the cold dark floor,
never to be heard or seen again
with the as last match that strikes,
the last ounce of ashes are added to the pile
with the last cut that's made,
the last drop of poison is added to the mix.