I took the casket by the hand,
whispered to her that everything was going to be alright,
and then poured my heart out to her.
Literally.
The little red pieces get buried tonight.
The viewing's at eight, between final exams.
You can take a piece with you.
Don't tell the funeral director.
He's afraid people will cut themselves with the shards.
But I don't mind.
A few scars do people some good.
Ironic.
I wouldn't have said that if my heart were here.
He always knew what to say.

Oh, what's that?
You want to fix him?
He said in his will
that the idea of repair was stupid.
Funny
that my heart would believe in YOLO.
Oh well.

So, coming to visit soon, old love?
He left you something in his will.

Himself.

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but now it's come to distances and both of us must try,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time,
walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me,
it's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the sea,

but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't
untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't
untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

A soft little kiss
That's all it is
And yet it can brighten my day
Or ruin my night

A bright smile
A giggle
Maybe a little red blush
All from that little kiss

A brightened mood
A better day
It makes things different
That soft little kiss

A placebo
Fake, platonic love
That's all it is
That stupid little kiss

A broken heart
A fragile smile
It's so confusing
That little, meaningless kiss

Home at last
Dark and dreary
The streets are empty,
and ******.

This is not my home,
cold and careless.
This is lifeless
and lonely.

This place was full of fights
and hatred, just the same.
This is not a place of sanity,
full of pain and suffering.

Different and delusional
I call myself here
I have a hallucination of my friends,
but still my mood boosts.

They aren't how they seem
moody and depressed,
quiet, careful, then gone
What has happened to my home?

No one is here,
just me.
The fighting killed them off,
Just as it seems...

In the hands of authors,
we are characters.
In the hands of illustrators,
we are imperfections to be fixed.
We people

Controlled by rulers,
modeled by peers,
"perfect" behavior by elders
never ourselves
We people

We people
need creativity
need reality
need freedom
need to be ourselves

There is no author
no illustrator
We are real
and free!
We do our will
not theirs
You write your own story