My mistake
Was loving you too hard.
My regret
Was never telling you
That I needed love back.

You took my stupid, broken heart,
always Yours right from the start,
its not Your job to catch my fall,
yet You sweep me up when im apart.
dont know where all our love began,
we locked our eyes, i could have ran,
im so confused but still i stand.
i cannot be, You said i can.
break my heart or call it even,
pull me back when i am leaving.
willingly, im Yours for keeping.

We call them beautiful
Colourful
Vibrant.
In reality they are dying
Decaying
The end of vitality.


We call it a hillside aflame
Words of destruction
Used to describe beauty


Life is taken for granted
Death jolts us into awareness
We celebrate new life
The rebirth; the awakening from the dead
And the cycle continues

She Sleeps
in a bed
of second hand
dreams.

surrounded by

raggedy Anne
romances
of no
depth or
consequence.

she is
a poem with
no ending
clouds with
no sky.



she sits

waiting for

heaven or hell

to finally

be done

with her.



maybe
someday
love will
give it
back.

the
key.

to the
place she
locks
all of her
secrets,

and hides

all of

her heart.

but not
now,

her broken
heart stands
alone,

the reaper.

watching,

while she
sits still


offering
only gentle
whispers.

of lonely

one way
conversations,

with empty

bottles

of wine

tonight.

The fish
which jumped out of the water
struggled
and returned to the water

said to

the poet
who jumped in the water
struggled
but failed to return

Your world is indeed not livable

I opened my treasure-chest heart to you
And you robbed me of myself
Then sailed away on the black tar sea

I searched and searched
For you appeared like magic
And disappeared just as fast

But eyes see not what the soul desires
And flesh and blood cannot withstand the longing alone
I shudder to think what will become of me

How could you turn me into a storm
Then leave before you could see the destruction?

The soul is missed by me dearly.
It contained within it, simultaneously,
spark, spirit, care, and glimmer.
Lit by an inestimable null.

The escape of which I now suffer.
Is a daily sick.
Of waking up with shuddered groan.

I miss the soul when it had chance.
Even if my end were purgatory.
I'll take the grey to the decisive ends.
Focused edge where bright meets blurry.