The time had come for two hearts to go their own way. 

It wasn’t sad; it wasn’t angry; just profoundly honest;

In the whirlwind of young life
Their love sudden
He blew her away
She caught his breath
The lust explosive
Captivated by each others touch
Living the dream
Fancy London apartment
Chanel and Bottega Veneta
Cap D Antibes
Woke to keys of an MG
Squealed with delighted
***** and Wine
Yet in the depth of this life
Fighting to be free
To own their souls
Losing sight of love
The power of another life
Kept them chained
In the birth of her breath
It came to an end


The legacy off their passion
A sparkling spirit
In the shadow of that spirit
Never to know
The geniuses of
Her soul
No captured memories
His dying voice
Silent to her life

what pains me most in life
is not knowing a reason for something
not being able to explain- in full-
why certain things deem to be a certain way.

why do hugs feel so **** good?
why does the smell of the air after a storm elate me?
why does the gentle tickling of a sun ray on my back ease my soul?

why is there no choice to be born?
why do some of us suffer from day to day whilst others merely seem to accumulate happiness?
why is my brother severely disabled?

truthfully, I have come to conclude,
that no amount of seeking will suffice
and
do we really want the burden of absolute knowledge anyway?

Kiss one:
And I’m left thinking,
“Have I found him?”
The one
Who can love this mess that I've become?
Have I found the one
Who can repair
This broken vase
I call
myself?
                                          No, it can’t be.
                                          He’s only drunk.
                                          There is no way.
                                          Not me.
                                          No.
                                          No.
Kiss two:
And I’m left thinking
"Was I wrong.
Was it not
Just the alcohol.
Have I found him.”
                                           Yes.
                                           I have.
                                           He can love me.
                                           He can.
                                           He is the kind of man
                                           That can care for something
                                           So broken.
Cold December night:
I discovered
He was no man at all.
He was a boy
Who made a broken girl fall.
                                          Fall.
          ­                                  Fall.
                                              Fall.
Until she hit the bottom.
And then buried her.
And her hope.
And her love.
6 feet under the ground.
Because he was a boy.
Who found it easier
To go back to what he knew
Than to try at something new.
So he buried
That broken girl.
6 feet under.
That cold,
Hard ground.