i see myself:

a
little tiny girl,
tear stained, broken..
.
pressed up against a glass
window that some might
call
a mirror,

and
submerged like a castle
in a fish tank, i
watch the way
that
little me swims
above
pretty little rainbow beads
and
picks at affection,
somehow
dropped from
the sky..
.

its
blue, pink, and
green;
and
there's a face in the clouds:

like rain, i
cry. looking down at
what once was..
.

and i remember why
that little girl
died.

Standing solid and still
just like the red oak it once was.
I trust it will hold me.
It’s sturdy and reliable.
Like the man who once sat in it.
The man who once held me.

It’s a coffee and cream color with
highlights of gold
and low lights of auburn
and each crack and stain tells  
a story

The Maleficent purple stain
on the back right leg.
a toddler that would grow to be me
running with a PB&J in hand
unaware of my brother's Hot Wheels Derby
taking place beside the table.
All it took was one untied shoelace
and all I remember is a symphony of tiny cars
clinging and clanging
and four year old me
falling face first into the tile
As the PB&J propelled forward
smearing brownish, purple goop.

The crack where your left shoulder
might touch if you leaned back.
I honestly don't even know what it's from.
Maybe an argument that got too heated?
Or simple ware and tear over the years?
I never asked. 
I’ll never know.

This chair brings me both
comfort and pain.
Comfort when I sit after a long day on my feet.
Pain when I walk by and stub my toe unexpectedly.
Comfort when I remember all the times he held me in it.
And pain when I remember he will never hold me again.

suicide is like watching
a very **** magic trick;
i've been doing mine for
a long time:
a few beers and a bottle
of whiskey a day...
**** that top-hat and white rabbit
waiting game.

Goosebumps rose as if in a little rebellion of sorts,
Our hands desperate to counter the state of unrest,
Exploring the human contour that lay before them,
For places where we could hide,
Or unhide.

Curling up, exchanging the warmth of our souls
Through our skin,
We took turns to savour, and be each other's saviour
Forging shields through our embraces,
As we lay in bed looking at each other's faces.

Our bodies decided to ally
Against the ever so conspiring chill
And even as the temperatures outside kept dropping,
The passion inside knew only one way to go - rise, rise, rise.

Isn't it odd
how beautiful the
image of blood
flowing off your
hand can be?

lips stained with pomegranate juice,
i want to kiss every inch of you;
temporary tattoos to remind you of me.

He cradled my heart
Between the lines etched into his youthful palms;
It quivered
And he whispered lullabies to calm it’s ache.
He filled my lungs with the ocean separating us,
A slow, soothing suffocation.
Saltwater desiccated me from the inside out
Until I was perfectly preserved for him.

Five hours too late or
Five hours too early;
He wanted to take me for coffee
In the middle of the night.
I would have walked on water
To know his embrace.

I was a slave to his lilted tongue;
He was a slave to his blood’s desires.
He begged for the release of his own grip.

Like a gust of sea air,
He vanished as quickly as he had arrived
And relinquished his hold on me.