that night, under the dark midnight sky
I weaved daisies into your hair
and pinned dandelions to the collar of your shirt
left lipstick trails like stars along your jaw
and goose bumps trailing behind my fingertips

and I came home at three a.m
wearing your soft grey jacket
and traces of your cologne on my skin
sleep willingly lost
and innocence willingly traded
for just a taste
of what love truly is

ever since your mother told you not to talk to strangers,
you stopped looking at y o u r s e l f  in the mirror
but if anyone at all were to ask me about you
i'd have to tell them how you love the sun
or how you'd whisper in the morning
allthough you are a bomb to me
you told me once that you swear
you had died with me in an attic fire
in a past life that hurt even more than this
that's when i realized i could scream my name
into your mouth, and hear the echo
coming from your chest
that was the closest i could ever get
to your heart
i'd sleep next to you as
you cuddle with your dreams
while nightmares are fended off
by the better parts of you
the ones that put a pin-sized hole
in your heart every time i
cried for you, and you couldn't
return the favor.
every single morning, you'd wake
and the nightmare would return
it turns out that's what was
holding my hand the whole time
i memorized the words in your eyes
it hurt and i
       suffered and i
                  bled and i  
       cried
but at least i did it
now they rush through my veins
out of my fingers, through this pen
i can't let go of it now

most of the time when I try to write about you,
all of my words get mixed up and I end up not saying the things I really intend to say,
the feelings I try so hard to explain sound so bland and untrue when I read them or write them down,
It is very hard to write about you,
Because no amount of words written down could muster up enough of who you are,
How great you are,
Or how much I love you.
Words are nothing
But
Writers block is everything,
When I try to write about you.
You're the thoughts and ideas,
The sky and the ground,
But when I try to write you down
You're like fire and water
I pretty much get nowhere when I try to write about you
But that is okay because you're more than words on paper to me..

She looked at me like I was a crime scene,
so fragile, yet so horrific that she didn't know what to say.
Instead she cried,
she cried simply because her daughter was gone.
She cried because her daughter felt so alone, and took her life.
She cried because her daughter couldn't find a way out.
She cried because she didn't even notice the pain that her daughter hid, and she cried because her daughter hid the pain so well, like she'd had plenty of practice.
She remembered the hot days when her daughter would come out of her room wearing jeans and a sweater despite the blazing heat.
The days when her smile seemed a little off, too forced.
She never had a clue that her little girl was falling apart right in front of her; slipping into oblivion.

She looked at her daughter lying on a metal table in a morgue, naked and forever exposed.
She grabbed her hand and began to cry.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed.
Her skin was so cold and so pale.
She thought to herself, "if only I was there."
She tried to tell herself it was okay, that it wasn't her fault, but she knew it wasn't okay and it wouldn't really be okay ever again; and that if she would have just asked maybe she wouldn't be standing in a morgue, mourning the loss of her only daughter.
She found herself asking so many 'what if's'
but what if's were inevitable, and it was too late.