There's a child on the corner, with a tear in her eye. She's missing her mother, we all miss someone who's died.

If we could bring back the ones we loved, we'd just break our hearts again. Is one life enough, or should we do it again?

The little girl is crying, she's letting out a moan. Her mother was dying, now she's all alone.

All she has is her friend, except he's make believe. He looks just like her father, except he wears his heart on his sleeve.

Her mothers last words were "do what you love, and love what you do". Then she gasped for air, and her face turned blue.

On cold nights, she thinks of her mother. And what she would've been. With her own mind she fights, to wipe the slate clean.

I'm living enclosed inside a place nobody knows about where a part of my soul grows in the dark and it blossoms in the cold.
Being the only soul here, it gets lonely; nobody to hold me, but if only I was more like the old me and had more of an open heart policy.
This space allows me to hide my true face; pushing away out of this place others who get too close. I have come to just embrace it.
There's a certain limit I have when it comes to outsiders being in it trying to find and get inside of my mind to get closer, unaware they're not going to win it.
It's been a minute since I've allowed it; I'm not proud of it but I can't do anything about it.
So many have tried to get me to confide in them about my spirit that's died; I thought I was hiding it but never knew it was this visible on the outside.
I wear my heart on my sleeve but my soul's in a pocket; deep inside, I zip that ***** up and locked it, threw away the key so no one can come in no matter how much they're knocking.
The only thing accompanying me is a mirror that I allow to be this near for a reason clear enough to understand if you were here.
I punched it watching the cracks spread wildly, but the fact is that simultaneously the reason for that is so it can stay here with me.
Now I'm not as lonely, have no reason to pretend or fake a feeling and even have someone to understand what I'm dealing with when I look at the falling shards of my reflections, then pick my head up to see that I finally have someone here I can see who's as broken as me.

Raccoon tapping on the windowpane
Fuzzy beggar, growing tame
Evenings longer, midnights colder
     My love and I
     Just a little bit older

Quarter moon above the trees
Wind blows softly, rustling leaves
Would you love me if I lost my hair?
     No, my dear
     And don't you dare

Dog curling up by the potbelly stove
Whiskers peek from the old mouse hole
Grandma's quilt has a brand new patch
     No more cookies
     Or I'll get fat

Rocking chair got a squeak again
Sniff the air, smells like rain
Horned owl hoots from out the wood
     I believe
     All life is good

Before I die I want to know
All the winds and why they blow
All the forests, every stream
     Why you smile, babe
     When you dream

Sometimes I fear I'll fear everything but fear itself....

This is the hanging thread
A long string of
Unspoken words
The rope that at one end
Holds down hearts
And at another
Coils around your
Wrist

Perhaps you weren't awake
During the moonlight hours
Looming reflections of today
Glass to my feet

This is the part
Where I write all the emotions down
And outwardly spew blame
Towards the victim of my insecurities
Whom I see as their
Beginning

I
Me
My
We?

I came home today with
A basket of metaphorical flowers
Chrysanthemums and Roses
All the pretty colors of fake
Yet you saw only the thorns
Of our punctured reality

In bleeding hands is the trust
Heart, soul and mind
As well as
Blood-borne illness

All items are
Brittle, apt to break
Yet I bloodied these fingertips
You did not
Toil

You only whisper to me anymore
Still cannot conceal the scent
Of displeasure
Taste
Of bile

Here are the musings
I have failed to intone even softly
Under my breath
For you fail to listen
While you are
*Awake