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Ambvision Dec 2014
He is a shattered mirror,
with no purpose.
His jagged edges let the world know
that he is trouble,
and trouble shows no mercy.
He lies to me,
but he doesn't care.
His only purpose is to mock,
making me doubt the things I have.
His reflected surface forces me
to disfavor myself,
wishing that I were someone different.
His cracked images twist me,
deforming who I truly am.
I attempt to look beyond his flaws,
but I am engrossed in his disturbed memories,
studying every reasoned blemish,
trying to distinguish the cause.
After learning his history,
I know his distressed faults.
Every scratch an untold story.
Every crack an unread book.
When you look closely,
you start to see the unintended beauty.
When the light shines on him,
his brilliance illuminates.
Every flaw is now radiant,
bursting with flourished creations.
His dark side is masked behind allurement,
astonishing me.
But the light soon fades,
leaving behind the same him I've always known.
His beauty is gone,
leaving him shattered like before.
He attempts to change me again,
but I walk away.
Ambvision Dec 2014
I miss you and I'm not going to tell you because I end up screaming it at the top of my lungs. Every night, my arms reach across the empty space in our bed, hoping to feel your embrace one last time. Every time I wake up, I pray that I'll discover it was all a nightmare. Every time my phone rings, I pray it's the doctors telling me it was all a misunderstanding. Instead, I'm standing over your grave, reading you this note. I've always been told, life's not about the breathes you take, but the moments that take your breathe away. But what happens when the moments that took my breathe away were always shared with you.
I was told to finish the sentence, "I miss you and I'm not going to tell you because..."
Ambvision Dec 2014
A little girl at the age of 6 looked up at you.
She asked..
"Grandma, can I have a cookie?"
You smiled and said
"I guess."
That girl turned 13, and she looked up at you.
She asked..
"Grandma, can you take me to the movies?"
You smiled and said
"I guess."
When she turned 16, she looked down at you from beside the hospital bed.
She asked..
"Grandma, can you please stay?"
You faintly smiled and whispered
"I guess."
Today, that little girl looks down at you once more.
A tear rolls down my cheek as I look at your grave.
They ask me..
"Sweety, will you be alright?"
My voice cracks as I whisper
"I guess."
This is about my grandma who passed away about a month ago. I love you.
Ambvision Dec 2014
597
People are constantly questioning "how come there's tears in your eyes?" I blink and ponder the question, causing a droplet to roll down my cheek. They don't realize that they're the same tears that have remained since the day you left me. Why did you get in that cab? I still recall the cab number, 597. The same month and year we were both born. You told me to remember that number because that's how many roses you would return with. With a kiss goodbye, you hopped in the cab. The illuminated 597 slowly disappeared as you departed down the road. The pavement was slick from the December snow. It was 3am when my phone lit up with an unknown number. I heard the news. I instantly felt a part of me shatter. My mother had to drive me to the hospital because my eyes were so overwhelmed with tears. I could still hear your laugh. The same laugh from the time I accidently fell off of our bed. The same bed that is half empty, still hoping you'd return. On the day of your funeral, many tears were she'd by family and friends, but I remained quiet. I never spoke a word, never changed my ****** expression, never shed a tear. As I closed the door to our apartment, I got the breathe knocked out of me as I collapsed to the floor. I couldn't breathe knowing that you weren't coming home. I caught my breathe and finally stood up. I switch on the lights and a tear escaped my eye as I turned around. In our apartment was 597 roses.
Ambvision Nov 2014
An opened bottle rests in my hand
I never expected you to understand
one pill down, but I don't feel a thing
I figured there'd at least be a sting
5 pills down, still nothing new
maybe I didn't think this through
10 pills later, everything's a blur
maybe this is what you'd prefer
20 pills down, there's now nothing to see
masked by my mind's treacherous debris
27 total and the bottle rolls to the floor
a tear escapes my eye as I whisper
"I need more"

— The End —