There is no fairytale in misery. Yet I find myself drowning in this unpolished desire to hold the hand of greed. I pulled out the knife too quickly, leaving it to heal improperly. Forever a mistake, forever a lost cause. My light seems broken. Every time I open my eyes, all I can see are shards of multi-coloured glass surrounding the happiness I cannot have. The nightmares have taken root and are a crippling comfort in which I cannot bear. I wipe away the mothering tears and hold back the putrid *****. Passion is my curse and sorrow is my blanket. I lust for the ugly and jagged pieces of hope, because it's all I have left to lean on.

Raw and uncut, to the bearest of bones.
I am an open novel and full of old woes.

I crack under pressure and wear my heart on my sleeve, I cringe with every soul that I too must grieve.

I am the clouds in the sky that always bring shade
And I try to soften the touch of a blade.

I want to be everything anyone has ever wanted
But I fear instead, my heart may be haunted.

The world tastes of sweet strawberries picked from the yard, yet I know I am too shy to pluck the right card.

I weep for the sorry and smile for the brave,
But I fear one day that I might misbehave.

Please forgive me for the changing of this tune,
You see I only hoped it wasn't too soon.

I ripped out the pages from my own written works, in hopes that I too could change my old quirks.

I pleasure the living and bury the dead, and I feel I might soon just lose my poor head.

The icy cold stares seep through my pores until they can see my darkest secrets. They judge and they wallow in their supposed morality as I drown in my own peer pressure poison. So I crack a smile and feel it fade because I can't fake what I can't feel in front of those who don't care. I shoot the silver arrow into the crooked branch so I can remember that not everything we want has to be perfect. And that I can find the diamond among the soiled ******* if that's what I deeply desire. I've never wanted anything more than to just be let in the herd and melt into the shadows. But then again, I don't want to lose myself. So I stay on the outside of the porcelain shop and watch all the shallow customers ****** the useless crap with their greasy fingers as I paint my words in colours no one can recognize just to **** with the egos of the cowards that always seem to have something to say. I want to make them all speechless as I sheer the sheep of their knotted wool and show them for who they really are.

This has changed me. I am no longer the same. I have too many scars, shed more than enough tears, and have drowned in a pool of self deterioration. I have forgotten what tall green summer grass feels like as it brushes my prickly legs. I have lost the sensation to feel the sun caressing my pale figure. I no longer remember fully feeling a smile stretch across my weary face. I cannot enjoy the softness of rain scrolling down my cheeks because it reminds me of what we used to be. Everything I do, everything I touch brings back the day you said you loved me. I was a nobody feeding off of young love and tender kisses. We were the two cards that were always paired, we were the only clovers left in the middle of a decaying forest. We were something lost in lust, and wrapped up in each other's soft spoken refrains.

I am no longer that girl. I have changed and am slowly becoming acquainted with this new stranger. I do not wish to change who I am becoming, but I do feel sad that I am forgetting who I once was.

I can forgive you for not loving me back the way I loved you, but you stole my entity. And for that you will never be forgiven.

He slipped her a silent acknowledgement from under his eyebrows. There he was, across the room but somehow a million miles away. She stroked her arm to let him know she knew. She knew his intentions, just as he knew hers.
It wasn't love they were after that night. It was a warm body against their own that they craved. Someone to hold in their deepest regrets and oldest fears. Someone to kiss the fresh wounds, and to hide the loneliness for but a few hours.
They shared their pain in silence, and let their emotions flow from their bodies onto the sheets. They became one for a night, and that's all they needed.
For now.

His name was Sam.

He looked so grown up as he walked away into the night. His under groomed shaggy summer struck hair glued down around his head from the warm pre-fall rain.
He wasn't the one I remembered, but rather the one I forgot. I couldn't help but shed a tear as he sashayed down the street, draped in his long and worn-out tailored coat.

I don't know how this was Sam.

It seemed wrong to just let him leave the way he did. But I think he lost his way. He'll come back when he rediscovers that lanky boy with an obsession for finding beauty in that which didn't exist.
He was the captain of the playground, the president of imagination.

I can't stop thinking about Sam.

I just sat in my car with my window down and my hair the way he always liked.
Somehow it wasn't enough, and somehow it was too much. He needed a reminder of who he used to be. But maybe this was part of growing up.

He was Sam. And I was his.

I kissed goodbye to the wind and hoped it reached him in time.
I lit my last cigarette and just waited.
All I ever did was wait, and it was pointless.
He'll never be back again.
Sam was a misguided free spirit.
Or maybe he had found himself.

His name was Sam.
And he was gone.
For good this time.

I followed the rabbit of despiration down the contradictory hole.
It lead me to believe I could have anything.
But what if what I wanted had no name.
What if what I needed came in the form of a still beating heart.
My flesh was crawling with want. Lust. Desire.
I needed it. I wanted it.
Hopeless and weary, I craved it in an ugly and filthy fashion.
My bones ached for the touch of something real. Something that could feel.
I was ripped of comfort and replaced it with grit.
**** out the pure and pour in the damage.
I don't want to leave.
I can't.
I'm stuck.
*Simply, stuck.

If I could be anything, I would be the cavernous moon that hangs above your head as you sleep. From dusk until dawn I would keep you safe, enrobed in the glow of my cold milky light.
*If I could be anything, I would be yours.

I don't know how you do it.
Everytime I'm around you, I seem to get these symptoms.
Like a bandit in the night, you steal my breath and cast a spell over my shielded heart, breaking the barrier.
My toes curl when you make your presence known.
I bite my bottom lip, and and my poor unprotected heart beats uncontrollably.
I don't know how you do it.
My cheeks flush, and my stomach boils with pleasure when you push back your shaggy blonde hair.
My voice gets stuck between my teeth when you glide towards me.
I can't help but smile when I stare into your saphire eyes.
I don't know how you do it, but I don't want these symptoms to disappear.
If this sickness is love, I never want to be cured.

And there he sat with the window open and his big heart, closed.
The stars were somehow dimmer, the moon just a speck in the overbearing sky.
Someday, somehow this will be better.
The music stopped, and the laughter from the children out on the streets was barely a whisper.
His sigh was carried out into the night.
There was something about this simple whimper that made the night go on forever.
And he just sat there with nothing but tears to accompany him as he smoked his Cuban cigar.
It was over.
And all that was left was what had been.

Something was missing the moment I stepped out the door. I wondered frantically at the sight of my bare hands and empty pockets at what that something could be. I walked back inside the dreary blackness of the empty house and searched all over for something that would release this feeling of exile from my chest. I searched the kitchen, the bathroom, my shadowy bedroom, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I finally checked the heart of the house, the living room and, there! My keys were laid out on the coffee table. I picked them up grasping the cold sharpness from the idoling keys, only feeling a moment of relief to find that, no. *That wasn't what I was looking for.

Deep oceans cannot hold what is hiding within my heart, the waves cannot squander my thoughts, oh so dark--
The coral cannot cover my sad hopeful zeal, because I am full of unrealistic ideals--
I drift with the fishes and pretend to be free, but your arms, oh so tight, are wrapped around me--
I plea to the Gods to send me on my way, but I fear that once I go, I will cry out "please let me stay!"--
I am bigger than the ocean, and greater than any God, because I've felt a Tsunami rise up from the sod--
Your eyes are greener than the wild algae below, the gaze that I feel will drag me undertow--
I have yet to discover the treasure I seek, but it must be closer to that mountainous peak!--

I wish for flowers that bloom every season in the backyard of my mind.
I wish to find happiness in the corners of my own smile.
I wish to feel the sun on the nebula of freckles that spreads across my rosy cheeks.
I wish to create unforgettable paintings with the words I write, and the laughter ensued from late night games of heartbreak.
I wish to make my own memories in the fields of impudence, where you cannot find me.
I wish to be a new, untameable me.
I wish, therefore, I will.

Body is pensive, eyes are cold.
He opens his arms wide with great intent, but I callously greet him.
I drift to sleep where I dream of me, lost in the woods with no one in sight.
I like it here, where the birds don't sing, and the sun doesn't shine, and you are nowhere to be found.
When I wake, I hope for an empty embrace and an intangible smile.
But there you are, warm and sleepy, only a kiss away.
Body is pensive, eyes are cold.

Water colour china shines from the sun, melting the white walls into a rainbow of light. He sits with his mouth twisted into a concentrated thought, and his eyes focused on what used to be me. Only a picture..a tearless memory. My hand translucent against the wood grain table, my heart no longer ticking in time with the aging grandfather clock. No longer cold, no longer warm. No longer full of over joy and life, and no longer filled with sadness or contempt. I cannot smell the wilting daises, I cannot taste the week old cigar smoke likely stale in the air. Nothing is the same, but it is rather comforting.

*Water colour china shines from the sun..