For the first time in my life I'm writing to my friends. Or maybe it's for my friends.
Because I never thought things would end like this. I never thought things would even end.

They've been here for years and they'll be here for more, I thought.
But all that was lost when they saw my life as a battle to be fought.

I've never been good with spoken words but I've never been silent with my writings.
So I'm speaking and shouting and yelling about how I never knew things were ending.

Tell me things. Anything. Please. I'm so lost at what to do. Specially here and now that I don't have any one of you.

I know it's not good, you could say unhealthy, even. But I've grown so used to all of you, you were my safest haven.

But I know I lost it. And I know that you see it.
But help me out and tell me why you saw my friendship and decided to drop and leave it.

So this is my sorry. And my thank you. And my fare well.
I know you are all better without me but i won't be better without you, and I hope you can never tell.

it smelt of cough syrup and cinnamon
when it came to visit in the dark hours that followed the chime of the grandfather clock
the scent lingered on every article of clothing he once had his fingers on
and crept under her nose as she lay there on her side
eyes open, hands steady
and she swore that she could almost feel it under her skin when she outstretched her arms like a bird
the scent turned into a feeling that stayed for 47 days
each morning morphing into a night, each night a new beginning
each beginning signaling for her arrest
held captive by the four walls that housed the scent
and every day she was reminded
there was no cure for fixing the void
except finding another to take by the hand
and using him dry until he could no longer be pushed around
each new one entering in,
another chance to touch the contents in the room
one more opportunity to leave memories and association with each item they picked up
and when they left,
she stayed in her same spot
surrounded by memories and names and faces and associations
that smelt all to similar to cough syrup
and she was knocked out.

Clacks the train on pre-made track
Taps she on and on all day
Wheel on rail, turns wheel on rail
Never wavering from laid out trail.

Clacks the train on pre-made track
Oft taking souls both to and fro
Alas unseen goes the weary rail
As metal cuts through the nestled nail.

Clacks the train on pre-made track
The unjoining joint harked too late
Souls on board feel blinding pain
As loco veers off its destined lane.

Clacks she no more on pre-made track
Unhinged, undone, has no path, no role
Bent beyond all blacksmith skill
Now left soulless, without way or will.