Sat on the white metal gate
For the wicked soul
He sang and wait

In and out the opening
The body did run
Unaware
Death had come

Till one day
The bird screeched no more
The man lay on the ground
Chest bloodied and torn

Clutched to feathered *****
Black purple arrayed
Held fast in long sharp claws
A cooling evil heart stayed
Screaming flew away into the sky
That turned from sea blue into a ghostly gray

This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Dec. 27, 2013

I know you've been hurting, trying to close that curtain,

Shut out the world, put down what's been lurking

inside you, it's ripping at your insides,

You try to run, but you can't hide,

You tried to fly, but you only glide

And it's unlikely that you'll land lightly,

I'd try to catch you, but you'd try to miss, to spite me,

I know sometimes I might seem mad,

But I can't let go of what I once had,

I'm not trying to make you feel bad,

I just wish you'd take the time to listen

to the words I'm trying to say and

that I'm cut dry, I'm dying, you know I can't lie,

I wish you'd see why I'm holding you so closely,

You're the glue, binding by broken heart,

Like a missing part, without you I start to fall apart,

I'm trying to stand tall, but my knees are shaking,

My mind is caving, every step I'm taking

is breaking my legs, my blood pools like a lake in

my chest because my heart's been torn open,

my happiness has been stolen, and I'm having trouble

coping with all this emotion, my thoughts are forming

so quickly, they're smoking, I can't tell if I'm joking,

or if I'm screaming out, hoping that someone will

notice that I'm broken, but I guess I'm too outspoken

to be considered anything but happy, actually,

I'm pretty sappy, and I'd gladly rejoice if, for once, someone would hear my real voice,

Until then, my tears will fall silently, like the rain drops on my window

that I just won't hear, I've lost myself within the confines of my own mind,

I can't help but express these feelings line after line,

It's like all these rhymes help this time fly by,

And I can finally feel alive, then I try to walk away, and my heart just writhes

in pain when the memory of you brushes past my head, or when sometimes

I swear that I can smell your perfume, it's like I'm playing

a game of "guess who" with myself, and I don't think it's

healthy to be this caught up in something like this,

but I can't help but miss the feeling of your kiss on my lips,

I miss it so much I swear it's making me sick,

I don't think I can handle this, I swear it's madness,

I just need to talk, that's all I can ask for,

So, please, won't you open that door,

Let me, it'a what I'm on my knees begging for.

You and I
Throughout the summer, in the water,
We were able to float into something so oblivious.
And, just like that, it disappeared.

Yet we stay and are seemingly stronger than ever.
You and me
Like the way it has been, but still want more.
Knowledge about everything.

Some things deserve to be forgotten, but
It is impossible. You and
I can never go back to
The innocence of knowing nothing.

-Year fifteen.

Normal girl, tall and slender. Bright eyes and developing body.
But her hands, oh... Her hands were sculpted by something else. Beautiful bones,
Long, pink nails and the skin on her palm smoother than silk.
The veins show a dull peppermint on her snowy skin.
Her thin wrist and delicate movements.

She cracks her knuckles so her sharp joints will show more.

-Year twenty three.

The life she lived previous was pressured by the pollution in the air. ****,
Drugs, and alcohol. She slouches and shivers on a warm summer day,
Huddled in a corner of her house.

Her hands show no more snow. The veins seem shriveled.
Her joints were swollen and unmovable.
Her palms are coarse from rubbing them together and her nails...
Oh, her nails were ****** and torn off. She clawed too much at her neck
As she was held down and suffocated.

-Year twenty four.

*"I am sorry." The note read.

It was a deformed hand. Bite marks on her fingertips, shriveled skin with blotches and sores.
The veins drawn over in pink scars from jagged blades and old attempts.
It was a miracle she could write at all.

She now lays in an open casket. Eyes stare at her contrasted beauty.
Her childhood friend had always loved her hands. He reconstructed them.
A shriveled old body, only twenty four years old, but seemingly ancient.

But her hands, oh... Her hands were sculpted by someone who truly loved her.
Beautiful bones,
Long and pink plastic nails. The skin on her palm made of silk.
The veins are drawn with a dull peppermint pastel on her falsely snowy skin.

He cracked her fingers so her prosthetic joints will move less.