My wit was stolen
in the shattered morning --
darkness robbed me of meaning
with its long, empty knives.

I search my pockets
for its incandessence,
turning out only absence
and a deep crushing sigh.

In the distance I see
others laughing, tossing
wit back and forth
like a shuttle **** at a garden party
sparkling, forceful, levity, bright.

I brush myself off
and walk towards them.

And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to Blossom.

Sometimes,
I stare at your picture,
Wishing I had something better to do.
While you're out with
other girls.
But I was supposed to be the one
dating boys,
that you were supposed to hate.
I can't.
Because they would all fall in love.
And I don't need any more trophies that beat.

Waiting for you,
Is like waiting for morning --
By the time it comes,
I'm fast asleep.