I was tricked into believing
This is my world.
There are too many signs
That can't be ignored.
It's certainly not my old world.
No, not my world at all.
Not the one I inherited,
And not the world I'll leave you.
And I'm so sorry for the mess we're in.
I'm sorry I'm made of carbon,
I'm changing,
I could be a diamond still.

Red were the roses, the ones I left on your casket,
Orange were the leaves, the ones in your tree,
Yellow were the bruises, the ones that covered you head-to-toe,
Green were the stains, the ones left on the hems of your jeans,
Blue were your lips, the day you were found in your noose,
Indigo was the night sky, that night that you died,
Violet was that bruise, the one you wore around your neck

My mind is awake
At night
Because it worries
How your day was
Thus, my heart does not rest

Some are like caged hens
banging there heads on the
        metal metaphors of desperations.

Non confirmative to the needs of seclusion,
as they were once free range.
           The eggs of doubt and walking in
secluded circles,
                 can drive one to
desperation!
or even to the moment of silence.

We all are meant to be free range,
             and now were battery hens,

running out of charge..

A warm August Night
A 2011 Chevy Cruze
A car radio playing Get You by Daniel Caesar
A faint green light
The only thing lighting up her face
Long blonde hair just above her waist
A beautiful girl with a clear and solid voice
A nervous boy with shaky hands and the voice to match
One last hug before they part ways
One last exchange
A last desperate kiss with him wishing he could make it last forever
Clinging to her hands until they finally release
Longing is the last taste in his mouth
The words please don't leave me getting stuck in his throat
Left to watch the sun walk away, a final glance before a silent goodbye
A girl gone before he could even understand her
A boy left with a long drive home
to wonder if she was ever even real or she just existed in his mind

you are not someone i can bury myself beneath.
you are someone i am meant to forget.
disappearing like dew in the morning,
you are not art, as much as i say you are.