Come child,
Wash those cobwebs from your eyes,
let not that sadness clutter your vision.
I know your mistakes and faults keep you up,
wrap them away, your silk thoughts, and bury them
within you.
We all know misery thrives on sorrow,
and infected hands handle peace.
I see the black veins in your gaunt hands,
and soon we will all know ,
the messenger of mercy, is the heart-
becoming silent, only speaking with a language of tears.
And not even you my dear,
can escape from the sticky entanglement
that murders beauty and passion.

The violet sky stood bashful against the dimming horizon. Stark trees sprang from the ground, flourishing in dots midst the blushing stars.

Street lights flicker on, reminding me of how mom didn't have to yell for me to come home, the lights whispered it to me, carried in the caressing breeze.

I'm reminded in the spring, of the day me and my friend ran into the pelting rain and jumped through puddles, soaking our bodies in high pitched laughter and impending colds.

I'm always reminded in the summer months, how everyone including myself, preferred water from the hose over water from the tap. Or how we'd run rampant through the field behind my house, screaming against the heat.

The broken sidewalk reminds me of the time when we all thought we were cool for trying to smoke cigarettes we stole from our parents.

I fell in love with patches of clovers more than that of a boy's selfish smile. I was more in love with the act of collecting lady bugs as pets rather than holding a hand pushed into mud.

I preferred shallow swimming pools over the small voice of a boy asking me if i had other friends like them. Or how the beam of the sun was better than the beam of a slender, pale face with blue eyes.

Blind and innocent children, we fell in love with things we could touch or splash in. We fell in love with the beautiful colors and characters in our favorite Saturday morning cartoons. When we weren't playing cops and robbers, we were lost in a world of SEGA and Super Nintendo 64. We were infatuated with a world that never altered, but our vision cleared of.

We were saturated in a time where our only big worry was making sure we got our recess time. And when the smog cleared we realized our biggest worry was making our parents proud.
And it seems that it should be the other way. We should be proud of the kid our parents raised.
But ultimately, the monsters under our beds became the demons in our heads.
And the kid your parents raised
slowly became the kid you wish your parents never had.

There won't be a day in my life where i wish i could fall in love with the sound of an ice cream truck, or the animals at the end of my bed again.

I fell in love with a boy by the bayside whose mouth tasted like sour apples in a way i never thought so beautiful. And I'm sorry it was never you, you always tasted bitter and burned. But there's something you need to understand,that my existence has wracking side effects and scars on my skin are only a classroom of pain. Your tears always found a way in, and leaked onto my heart, playing a sad song about wishing wells and shooting stars and formed words on my tongue like four leaf clovers. And you still haven't apologized for emptying my lake of happiness and replacing it with rocks of sadness and filling my pockets with pebbles. A man once told me that anyone good for me would never hurt me. And i suddenly forgot that, when your eyes turned to icy corridors and your hands, tightened leather. I only wanted to melt away the emptiness in your irises and break away from the distraught grip. But didn't anyone ever tell you can't just set thing on fire because you like to watch ash float in the wind? You were always so wreckless. With my bleeding heart in your hands all you could mutter was, "I made a mess." All you could do was walk away with clenched fists leaving me on the ground trying to pick up shards of glass, ribbons of tears, and pieces of the moon; essentially you left me to salvage the pieces of myself. The truth is, you left me there in the dark. And i haven't emerged.