Just a pinch to plump,
Just a pinch to get rid of the lines,
Just a pinch to shrink the neckline,
Just a pinch to lose the weight,

Just some pain to reshape,
Just some pain to change,
Just some pain to become who I am,

I don't know how to feel,
   knowing I'm sad again in this mirror,
          Just some more cuts,
                    Just some more pain,
What can go wrong? As I run from myself,
      Only to see him in the mirror everyday. . . .

I am dying strangely, love does not **** me.
My heart is still beating, death does not yet visit me.
I am dying of these memories, a would of longing.
Do you feel my pain?
This memory, that has rooted itself in my soul.
It ***** away all happiness & sadness, why does it not bloom?
This memory of you I can not erase,
Time does not forgive , I lost myself more and more in your old embrace.

The innumerable ties, that you gave me.
The childish tricks, that you deceived me.
I'd rather be dead, then forgotten.

Our love is made of unspoken silence,
Closed lips that age and ripen,
inside our broken heart.
Our heart which weeps the soul,
agonizing, arduous, still. .  
why, do we keep it in,
only to sustain this anguish,
hundreds of words , to three, to silence.

Remember, the cold desert breeze.
The strange silence  after the cicada's song has gone to sleep.
Bare concrete floors, a broken down door.
An old computer desk with D+J carved into the wood.
Beat up old bed, with a lone gaga poster on the wall.
How, we thought we were "different",
When you'd tell me on the phone, "its going to be okay, I'll run away with you".
I dreamed of a warm home, now I have three.
I dreamed of a car, now I have four.
I dreamed of money, now I have too much to count.
I was cold,
                Hungry,
                          Angry,
But at least I had you.
from diapers until 23. . . we were always together . .
Almost a decade later and I wonder if you are still up there
gazing at me.
    If you are proud of who I became.

I'm sorry for saying I love you. . .
Can we go back to yesterday,
when we were best friends?

If I smiled more the first night,
If I laughed at your joke on the third birthday party we celebrated,
If I tried harder.
each night is the same,
a different memory, a different critique If . .
What could be different?
Where is the fault?
If I changed that minute detail.

Would you have stayed ꨄ