Little eyes
Crystal and perfect
Little ears
Sculpted, flawless
Little lips
Soft and lovely
And a little smile
With little teeth
To show your precious little face

But behind the eyes
Under the ears
And beyond your smile
Inside your little lungs
You’re sick

It pains me too look at you
Your little eyes
Little ears
Little smile
Because all I can see
Is a little box
Inside a little hole
And dozens of little flowers

But inside your little eyes
I see the smallest but most beautiful
Ray of hope
And I say to myself
“My little brother
So strong but so weak
Is going to make it”

And the box is empty
And the hole was never dug
And the flowers never picked

And I could see you again
And I didn’t worry
Because I saw hope
All the way down in your little lungs
Which won’t hold out forever
But for now you are my brother

Its sad
To know that some one is burning bridges
Even before my heart could smell
The acrid smoke of neglect
The bridge is already burnt down
While the water passes under it.

Heart tries hard to keep
The fire going on in heart
Seeing her face, turned away
In the flicker of light
In the bits of food, that one feeds to
One's dying love, but fails at last.

Made of blood, as foolish as it sounds;
Letters Drop, oozing out from a squeezed heart
Her name is cast again and again
On the sands of time
And waves upon waves
Sea wipes the effort, in vain, again and again

Why do I write
Why do I write on the sands
As I know it will be wiped out
In no time, but still I do
As I know she is oriented
Towards Sea - the sea of humanity and of love

I still have not burned my bridges...

She wants to dance.
Dance until she can barely feel her knees
and it's impossible to wipe the sweat from her brow.

She wants their love to be
eternal.
Exactly how they croon and
whisper to each other.
Waking up to him each and
every morning.

She wants to write.
Nothing infamous, but enough
so that she is recognized every so often.
Enough to keep money in her pocket.

She wants her own life.
Music, happiness, success,
love...

The worry-free American dream.
Why does it have to be a dream?
Why not a Monday?

Maybe some day...
She'll wake up on that Monday.

It hurts worst when I'm sitting in a cafe and a song I know comes on the radio. By insinct I turn to the chair next to me. I turn to your empty chair. Dismayed, I look around for someone to share it with. But nobody there knows the song. To them it's just the gray backround. And I drop my eyes wishing I could make it exist.

Or worst when I'm walking through an empty parking lot at midnight and yellow light is dripping out of the street lamps and washing all over the pavement. The sound of it is deafening. I can't hear it but I can feel it. The weight of it pulls my shoulders down towards my own starving black shadow and makes me think of how the white glow of your skin pulled me down into your arms and made my eyes shine.

Or worst when I'm on the street corner waiting to cross and the rain is pouring over the skyscrapers and down into the canyons of the city. Cars pass like phantoms floating through the fog, their headlights flashing on the wet pavement. The sound of harsh laughter and flooded gutters invaded by creaking busses reaches me as if from the past, and for a second I can hear your voice, humming a song about the rain. And I cross, begging out loud underneath the roar of raindrops for the cars to hit me.

These are the lonliest days and the longest nights. These are the moments when I can feel my lungs caving in every time I exhale. The seconds where a tiny black line dancing to the pulse of time is the only movement in my cold apartment, replacing the warm rise and fall of your chest.

night is coming and I'm sitting at my window watching the sunset die and I don't want to give up  I don't want to and it's getting dark again

I wiggle my toes and tell them I love them.
Five little soldiers, all in a line
That is, on Monday.
On Tuesday they're all little piggies going to the market;
and we all ate roast beef for dinner.
(but one little piggy had none).

On Wednesday, they are all toes again.