If there comes a time
that you might lose me
Find me in my poetry

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

You are my one pal,
who left me in solitude.
You leave me injured
when I spend one too many hours with you.

We only met by happenstance,
playing games in the front yard,
who knew it would end so dark.

How would you feel,
if I told you I've marooned you?
It's not something a friend would do.
I keep blowing my time, burning my hours,
falling deeper in the wait of you,
If only the reunion was true.

Why did you leave me 'bleeding' and not 'dead'?
I wonder as I die every day,
in pain, as I lay in my bed.

You engulfed me in your ocean,
as you lured the fish I was.
You clawed into the skin like a leech,
as you still held me after I pushed you.
You coiled and hissed,
as you embraced the prey I was.
You plucked my flower from the stem that I was,
as you bit my flesh.
You drove over like a truck,
as you punched and kicked me.
You ****** all the air of mine,
as your hands strangled my neck.
You pierced through a crumbled body like an arrow,
as you went into me.

By now, you had drunk all the water from the vessel that I was,
your thirst still not quenched,
as your inferno burned me.

My skin is now scarred forever,
the bruises etched into my very soul.
At this moment, you may be incarcerated,
but I will always be cursed by the feeling of being trapped.

Looking up to you with great hopes,
people climb those steps,
with their lives on the ropes,
crying they come, the people who wept.
To a statue of rock,
left all of their money, all the people who left.
You should be helping those people,
from the promises, you've kept.
Is it your benevolence or is it just a sweet theft?

It turned out to be a theft.
They died of poverty,
you killed them while they slept.
They died of hunger,
and on the roads, they crept.
They died of winter,
for they were all undressed.
They died of illness,
for their houses were unswept.
They all died because of you,
'cause you turned out to be inept.

I'm gonna miss these window panes,
and these windy lanes,
When I leave these streets.
But I'll never miss these slippery tiles,
'cause I always slipped on these.
I wouldn't pass on my house and its keys,
If it were me.

This will change my links of life,
the way I live and the way I die.
I don't want to leave, this sheltered sheath,
and this, this is my only greed.
All my friends will be left behind,
and the new rooms will not smell like.
I wish we could rest, in our worn-out nest,
and this, this is my only need.