words escape your lips,
breathy and sweet,
a heartfelt tale,
verbatim of the purest of prose.

they are beautiful, my dear,
a string of pretty little things
to form a line so sugary sweet;
a voice like honey to make it all better,
unique to you and only you,
my fair magnifique.

i can see it in your eyes,
the pain you try so hard to hide,
glaring through your icy blues,
vast and deep as the oceans, true.

they are beautiful, my dear,
the windows to your soul.

i am but a coordinate away from the depths of your heart,
though i’ve been lost out at sea from the very start,
deep into thine eyes of misery and mystic mystery.

your body moves in fluid motion,
a certain grace that only you can attain.
it is beautiful, my dear, the way your ringlets fall to frame your face,
your hand goes to move them out of place and reveals the angelic sight of such a lovely face.

you’ve the face of a goddess, did you know that, my dear?
only if you’d let me, i’d make it all you’d ever hear.
would you let me, dear? do i have that honor?
can i draw you near, can i hold you tight?
can i lay with you on this cold winter night?

would you love me, dear?
would you crave me like i crave you?
do you’ve any idea how badly i need you?

your words and your beauty, your scars and mine too,
they’d paint a picture quite dreary, quite sad, quite blue.

two souls lost on a quest for solace,
each trying hard just to bite the bullet.

do i have you, are you mine yet?
do you know what it’s like dear,
to writhe in such pain?

do you know of these wonders,
the extent of my brain?
i am crazy, darling, can’t you see?
i’m driven mad by what you’ve done to me.

your words and your beauty,
your scars and mine too,
a melody made for both me and you.

can you hear that, is it clear?
my voice calls for you, are you near?
please answer, my dear, for i can only shout for so long.

our melody fades back to black and blue,
a tune drowned like cities in tropical rain.

and i’ll still play our song,
every evening by the moon.
my eyes will lift and my voice will rise,
singing and singing of those beautiful eyes.

tell me, do you crave me like i crave you?

but you won’t sing for me, dear,
no calls to want me near.

but you won’t sing for me, dear,
full of fears for what might be near.

but you won’t sing for me, dear, isn’t that true?

you won’t sing for me, dear. will you?

maybe this is how it's supposed to be:
living and breathing with little to no luxury.
appreciative and selfless,
ungrateful, but with love left.
maybe it was meant to be,
the way she lived in misery.

or maybe there's a change of fate,
somewhere along the way,
a certain path to take.
a lesson, an epiphany, a revelation
to change all that she'd known.
how she longed for such tidings,
such chances, so much.

she ached for it, begged for it,
cried out in pain for it - and for what?
nothing she did was enough,
certainly not the kind to be tough;
aggression and roughness,
not her style, not her game.

the answers were clear, metal chained to her feet,
if only she could free them, float upwards and breach.

but the suffering continued,
her lungs filled with liquid -
and the voices continued,
a beckoning call;
"my darling, my darling, pull your head from the water."
why should she, what for?
it's no use, why bother?

she'd reach and she'd reach for the hand above the surface,
pulled straight down further with every attempt.
no calls for help and no one to listen,
no point in continuing the lost cause of a mission.

Once upon a time, her world was filled with light.
A sight optimistic, ecstatic like a birds first flight.
Happiness was the norm, the usual for her world;
Sadness was the enemy, tears rare like precious pearls.

Years later and she's older, wiser beyond her years.
"You're different," they say. "You've a gift."
A gift and a wish and a choice between two worlds,
Two worlds with different paths, two worlds honned with different girls.

The ashes of her cigarette lay muddled at her feet
As she ponders her future and the struggles she may meet.
"Should I do it, should I go? Or should I stay and let it flow?
Should I give up, should I try? Should I stay and let it die?"

She was different, had a gift,
A way with words and a love for it.

Once upon a time, her world was filled with light.
A sight optimistic, ecstatic like a birds first flight.
Happiness was the norm, the usual for her world;
Sadness was the enemy, tears rare like precious pearls.

These days she wallows on her throne,
Sized for a queen, a bed all her own.
Tears spill like precious gems, streaking olive - toned cheeks,
Pooling on her pillow while the poor girl weeps.

A light shines as her eyes close in slumber,
Dimming as the enemy comes out from under.

Her world, once filled with light,
Now struggles with the boundaries of her own first flight.