I once had a friend who when we always used to play, played dead
I used to think it was really funny, those memories stay in my head
We would run around laughing
Where we would always be catching
Each other, trying to the other
I know that there will never be another
One day, while I was waiting for him to come over
I received the news...
And I still tell myself to this day...
He's just playing dead...

I will try
So ***-
So very hard,
To be reserved.
At least
More so.
Because the ****-
The things I say can be quite innapropriate,
And highly unbecoming
Of a young woman to say.

I do
I don't
I shouldn't
I should
I can't
I must
No,
But I want to.

What we had was good


I'll find one that's *better

Dear Brother, do you still believe in Santa Claus?
Whose cold nose matches your ****** one,
Who falls down chimneys like you are pushed down stairs,
Who is isolated at the North Pole as much as you are in the world.
And when you asked for friends for Christmas,
You got insults, a broken arm, and a football.

Dear Brother, do you still believe in a God?
Who could walk on water
But not get your head out of the toilet.
Who gave Moses the power to part the Red Sea,
But not your sea of helpless tears.
Who answers all prayers,
But replied to yours with a loud, defeated silence.

Dear Brother, do you still believe in love?
That boy you met with hazel eyes and a heartbeat
Was a stronger drug than ones you use now.
But left you more broken than the ***** ever did.
You stitched yourself up, only to fall flat again
In love, hate, then shattering like the beer bottle
When you discovered he was only taking a bet.

Dear Brother, do you still believe in life?
Between drugs and drinks, have you found peace?
Or a reason to live, in deep depths of the night?
Do you know Spring comes after Winter
And solemn clouds fall, fail, forfeit to the sun?
Your Earth was stopped, turned away from the light
Leaving you in the cold, trapped between nightmares.

Dear Brother, I hope you believed in the afterlife
After your stomach spit out the sadness-stopping pills.
After your wrist wrote scars like lyrics to the beat of silent screams.
After I ran in one minute too late.
To see you, hanging in peace from the ceiling fan
Fun, I mean gun, still loaded to your left, so you would not fail, flail, flinch this time.
With a note to the right with three words:
*“Dear Sister,
No.”