sometimes, all you can
really do is
give them a big smile
and wave them off,
hopefully from your life.

anticipation shakes me
as my fingers tremble
in the looming darkness
of tomorrow

the shadows grow longer,
and i grow tired. the day
stretches on, and doesn't end
but then it does.

and as night falls, so does
silence, and so does the moonlight
over the shadows, over the
mountains that are ever so tall

my dreams are dark,
near nightmares, no where near
reality, where all the shadows fall
and all the moonlight glimmers

bring to light this fear
make this all now clear

the flowers fall,
every year.
lilac raindrops
on sodden ground
turned to dust and
roadkill

the flowers fall,
every year.
beautiful death,
they called it,
as they trampled
on the outstretched fingers,
blue and purple

the flowers fall,
every year.
paint the outside
lavender and violet
crinkle to nothing.

the flowers fall.
see them, and catch them.
remember them.

You can always tell a self destructive writer
By their poetry

Because sometimes they are redundant
And other times they are expressing pain

But they always tell a story of being hurt
And locked into their own head

But this my dear, is why they write
Because the person in their head is trying to get out

Self destructive writers
Are usually dark

But when they are light
They tell you how perfect you are

So that you don't do the same thing
That they did to themselves

Self destructive writers
Don't want you to make their scars
On your arms