I. You told me that you saw the universe in my eyes whenever we stared at each other for longer than six seconds. The universe is infinite and I thought you were comparing it to our love.

II. You fell in love with the way I laughed and acted around you because I reminded you of a rose bud that you planted on your garden. Little did you know, a rose has its thorns and I'm guessing you weren't prepared for that.

III. The first time you looked at me with tears streaming down my cheeks, you blamed me for being so ugly looking. I was cursing myself when you walked out the door and didn't look back.

IV. Months after you left and I was buried deep under the ground, he found me. ***** and covered in mud, he washed me from head to toe. I knew I'd fall for him.

V. He and I had our first kiss on New Year's Eve and he gave me hope more than you ever did. I knew I deserved him.

VI. I saw you walking down the street while I was holding his hand and the next thing I knew, you were screaming so loud I could barely understand what you said. Later, I found out that you were cursing me for being freed by him from where you buried me.

VII. I found a letter by the front door the very next day and all that it said was how the writer could still see the mud on my face and on my back, just like the last time they saw me. I knew the writer was you.

VIII. The night he found out about the letter, he hugged me ever so tightly and he swore he wouldn't let anybody harm me. Let the Power above dealt with the problem.

IX. I'm happier than ever now that I know I have someone whom I can hold on to. I don't even see any mud on my face; it is you who's covered with dirt the most.

I asked her why she cut herself,
and she said,
"Because death has an edge
and life is pointless."
She asked that I not
write a poem
romanticizing suicide,
just a poem about
how hard it can be
to celebrate life.

Spilled secrets,
spreading;
        a glass of water
dropped on the floor.

Sometimes I think about the last time I saw you alive and almost told you I loved you. But when I almost said it and you looked at me and said "what is it, babe?" I lost my nerve and squeezed your hand tighter and said "you have beautiful eyes." Instead, and I just stared at you and hoped to convey what I couldn't say. But real life is not a romance novel, "you have beautiful eyes" was not heard as the "I love you" that it was, and even if you had heard it, I guess it wasn't enough, because you killed yourself anyways.

Oft I've wondered
about the fallen tree
and loneliness,
this feeling.

And who can say,
does anyone
hear a flower cry
when it dies
in silent fields.

It's cold here,
lying
amongst
the fallen
petals.