We were mutual projections,
a story that existed only
In ourselves, caught in a
Series of circumstances that
So perfect, it had to be love.
But romances are best kept to novels
And the silver screen.
Fantasy is never the same in reality.

Funny to think how
fork to lips and food to mouth
spurs digestions
Fueling
body parts which could not move
or function without fork to lips
and food to mouth.
And if we actually stopped eating
for once in our lives we would  starve
and our organs would cease to function
because forks not raised to lips
bring no fuel to body parts
So that they cannot move
Or function.
Funny to think how fork to lips
And food to mouth is
An act so simple but
If we didn't do we'd die without.

A handful of sand in your palm
Slipping between your fingers
Carried by
Breeze.
If only these hands
could build a castle.

I've always been an unusual girl,
and while other girls and boys made friends,
I fell in love with stories inside my head.
My childhood was never on earth, but
spent in far-off places in castles, where I was
a princess, or a wild viking warrior queen,
and my people loved me, they bowed, they would
clap and sing songs of praise at my benevolence,
my demure and generous character, and beauty.
And back on earth I was alone, but content with
the characters inside my head.
As years passed, their voices faded, and though
I would struggle to keep in contact, postmen won't ship
to figment places, and pen-pals are hard to keep when
they don't exist.
It's hard to realize that conversations with friends in the dark
were only really with yourself.
I became overwhelmed with
Loneliness, determined to find the people from
my stories in reality, and always hoping, always dreaming,
and always searching for the Prince, who I knew already--
who I'd spent countless nights with, laying in fields of flowers
and holding hands under the starlight, and watching the moon
pass through the night sky.
And at night, sometimes, in the real world, I would watch the
moon pass through the sky, and know that somewhere , on some distant shore in a land far, far away, that you did
exist, that maybe, at some point, we were looking at the same
moon at the same time, and for a split second, maybe, we were
inevitably and invariably connected, that our hearts could collide
even across time and space and realities.
I remember when I was a child, that I thought time stops
when you meet the love of your life, like in those stories
your parents always tell to you about how they met.
And when I saw you I knew I had seen and felt those eyes before,
that these were the eyes that had locked with mine across time and
space and reality on lonely nights spent watching the moon
pass through the night sky,
and time really did stop.

I had a soul, once, like a live animal.
It is dead now,  hunted and gunned down
by enthusiastic hunters and self-infliction and wine that drowned
and bled it to death, skinned and hung,
with bulging eyes glazed like glass,
leaving only sun-bleached bones and foul odor.
I had a soul, once, that flew like a bird,
and spread its wings at your voice
and the call of God, who has grown silent,
whose conversations once held in trust in dark places fall on ears deaf to thoughts and prayer and hope.
It was beautiful, once,
beautiful enough to be part of this beautiful world.
It has withered, now, like a plucked flower or an old man,
back bent, senile, ignorant, and
too broken to be a semblance or remembrance of its once former glory,
dead.

I am not your wife, or daughter.
I am the skeleton in the closet
While you sit together sharing
Sweet smiles and laughs
Over sentiments I will never be part of.
Family man with a happy home,
Why are you unfulfilled?
Lay with her at night, but
Night-time dreams bring me to
Your quiet bed.
You love her still, but
Where a flood of passion
Once brought you to embrace
Has become a slow and steady river,
And visions in your mind wander between
Young thighs.
One last moment of freedom, rebellion and
Youth before all has fled and
Feeble mind and feeble body receive
No coy flattery or passing glance.
You are just a man,
And all men fall to the right woman.

This pain is festering
Like a deer carcass on the highway
Bloated, belly full of
Maggots and the smell
Of rotting flesh and gasoline
In the hot sun.
Bowels crushed against
Hard pavement coated in tar
Where once our proud stag's feet
Had walked with grace
Is now a grave, and  heavy wheels
Speed over a body once
Full of life and love and blood
And drivers, repulsed,
Can't even spare a passing glance.