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Am I at the end
Of this stone -
Being pushed, shoved
Forth onto the next?

Unwilling to take that step
All alone
Again.

And why?
For here I am safe
Master of my stone
Happy with this reality.

Safe from here I see
The gnarled rocks surrounding
The polished rock dripping
With moss and the likes.

And so I will ask once more -
Must I leave this safe place
For one that brings no promises,
Only strangers with their sorrows
Dragging behind them
As they too remember there
Stones they left behind.
Her silence screamed words
spoken from an aching heart
longing for a friend.
Simply, I’d like a
not-so-simple man to share
my sheets with tonight.
she was pregnant with

the ability to love

someone, but not just



anyone who would

swoop down and lap up her young

innocent dreams - no,



she had to protect

her soul from the thirsty mouths

of so many men



who came searching with

prying eyes and hollow souls

hoping she would fix



their brokenness with

hedonistic pleasures that

left her carcass raw



and torn of the words

she was saving for someone

equally naive.
You and I,
Our love is like the week-old
Confetti cake
On my table. yesterday
It seemed like such a fine idea
To run my tongue along the
Length of the pan, lapping up
The rainbow frosting, so delicious
Was our love at first
Such a fine idea, you were
As you filled my head with sweet
Nothings. today I pay
The price of that confetti cake
Frosting now gumming up my
Insides, an excess of sweet
Saccharine nothings, you were
Such a fine idea once
But now the confetti cake
On my table, or rather the container -
You and I,
We harbor only hardened crumbs and the
Crusted edges are not so sweet
Anymore.
Sometimes she wished
The little things would **** her
All the risks of
Surgery, skin cancer, and stupidity
Carried no weight
For she wanted so badly for
The little things to **** her.

She caught herself daydreaming
Of the possibility that today
Would never lead to another tomorrow
That way the little things -
The sudden and accidental car crash,
The one in a million lightning bolt,
The simple but fatal misdiagnosis
Could rescue her.

For her, death was not to be feared.
How could it possibly be worse
Than the concept of life -
Waking each day hopeful
Going to bed each night disappointed -
Disappointed in herself for failing
To outrun the bitter criticism
She imposed on herself.

So cowardly.
So weak.
So broken.

Pathetic.

And so she kept wishing
For the little things,
Hopeful
That they'd save her from
The bigger things:
Her regrets, her failures, her emptiness
But as always
She was disappointed.
God
Are                  my thoughts boring
You                  - high above creation,
Listening        barely
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