My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And the ***** rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.

He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Overbearing,
Texas sun.

My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.

My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
Loudly,
Unavoidably,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
Pulling,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.

My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.

So let's talk about suicide
and how it could have taken me
and how it still might.

So let's talk about suicide
and how childs not yet old enough to wake their minds
try to end their lives as we just sit by.

So let's talk about suicide
and how tired old folks cut their time too short
because they have noone to love.

So let's talk about suicide
and how self-harm is cause of laugh
and how one day it goes too far.

So let's talk about suicide
and how I never thought I'd see myself
writing about my own.

So let's talk about suicide
let's talk about mine
my first try I threw my knife before the red shone in my eyes.

So let's talk about suicide
and how my second try I mixed ***, Coke and bleach.
It tasted really bad, but I drank on.

So let's talk about suicide
and how I don't really want to **** myself anymore
but I guess there is something about me that makes me close to it anyway.

So let's talk about suicide
and how my last attempt will be at the bottom of the sea,
drunk with misery, drunk alone.

So let's talk about suicide
let's talk about it because it happens all around us
and talking is the best way not to break.

So I've talked enaugh, now it's your turn

kiss me in your backseat
like nothing has ever been like this before
'cause you kiss like a promise
like you have never wanted anything more
than me

and just maybe, i'm crazy about you baby
and i guess it's a mess but i've always loved messy
things

and with your lips on my neck, i feel like the best is yet to come
and with my heart on my sleeve, i hope you can see it beats like a drum

and i'm wrapped around your finger and my gaze might just linger on your face
and i can't help but notice what we've made of this moment in this place

is beautiful
you're beautiful.

in the streetlights, with your brown eyes looking into my heart
hold me tighter, with your bright lights lighting up the dark
you're lighting up

like a novice June appears
with powder blue skies
and the longest day of the year
retains its light,
coupled with those balmy  early evenings.
Delphininuims and oriental poppies
sway jewel like in their dense hues,
while Lupins make their best display.
All at once this early summer gap
gives spring its last abundance.

The desert in the desert,
No camel to move on,
Its master is in
Like that master
Who tailored this land,
And the wind alone
Takes rounds hesitatingly,
And speaks to leaves
Informing us
Still there is life in the desert
If we have faith in him