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 Jul 2013 Amber Lee
cresun
teenhood
 Jul 2013 Amber Lee
cresun
drown in the ocean
everything seem to be
in an alacritous motion

he hollers for help
the holler echoed through the big ocean
and he wonders why still
nobody could hear his yelp

nobody came to aid
nobody came to save

he swims and swims
as he weeps and weeps

for nobody solicitude
for nobody understood

every time he moves
the waves nestled him
convincing him to let go

to throw away the hopes
of being alive and loved

gradually he let go
and let the waves pull him down
asphyxiating him with their abilities
 Jul 2012 Amber Lee
Sarah Wilson
They are strangers now, separated by their worlds and walls.
There is no chemistry, no spark, nothing special.
They are simply strangers, sharing a couch.

One is autumn, one is spring;
one likes talking, and the other? Listening.

If walls could talk, they’d weave a tale so tragic.

In the beginning, he was sun, and she was moon.
At the ending, she was running, but he was leaving.

In the beginning, there are many things.
There is music, and laughter, and broken strings.
They have cooperation, and commitment, and promises.
Her mom gives them glasses, his mom gives them dishes.
She has her charcoals, he has his guitar.

At the ending, close to the ending-
There is his guitar, her laughter, they’ve broken things.
And that is all that is left.

Promises and glasses, dishes and hearts.
A year of trying and losing is written on the walls;
the wallpaper- peeling, the curtains- ripping.

He clears his throat, she stills- hoping.
“I’m sorry,” she hears, and it’s okay.
“I’m sorry,” she hears, “that it’s ended this way.”

I’m sorry, she hears. I’m sorry, that it’s ended this way.
I’m sorry, she hears. That it’s ended this way.

“It’s ended this way?”
“I’m ending it this way.”

— The End —