Sometimes,
I wish my apartment steps
were made of glass
so the night we met -
they shattered and we never
would have made the connection
that sold my soul
to the devil
back last year.

The price
was that I would
miss you
for the rest
of my life,

And I wish I could
take it all back.

Champagne drenched tears,
if only you knew how sour
they were tasting as they dripped
down my frigid cheekbones.

The alcohol couldn't burn the taste
of you away, but it numbed me
slightly for only a moment so I could
gain some spine-tingling clarity.

Milk and honey;
one is more luscious and inviting
dripping down your pouty, cherry red lips.
The other is warm and tempting,
but for some reason,
I can't stand to stomach it.

Our fingers brushed in the gallery opening
not so long ago,
we were in a room full of art,
but you were the only masterpiece I was looking for.

Our fingers brushed in the gallery opening
not so long ago,
we were in a room full of art,
which only made me crave you more.

It reminded me of your hands,
finger-painting like a child using watercolors
onto my blank canvased soul filling in
every part of me that was missing colors.

Now, everything is in black and white.
When our fingers lightly brushed again,
I felt the flood of rainbows and stars rush back to me
before disappearing behind me, following you away.

When I pass away,
bury my ashes in the dirt
along with some seeds.
I want to become a Weeping Willow,
the most whimsical and honest tree
in existence.

When humans become sad,
I can provide them with shade, shelter and
safety, casting my branches over them
in a protective embrace.

I’ll know the pain that burdens their
shoulders, for I was once in that same place.
I can listen to their problems when nobody
else will, and be able to understand.

Their tears will provide my soil
with strength to stand
strong and not falter.
The hums of Earth’s sounds will lull
them back to the safety of reality.

I can still feel the bass from your music
vibrate deep within my hollow ribcage
where my heart used to beat.

Sometimes I pretend that your lips
are pressed hard against my collar bones
wishing me well again.

Other times, I dream that your caramel
colored eyes are staring back into mine
with such lifelike severity, that even you
can't remember why you broke up with me.

How can such a horrible person
be able to create such beautiful art?

I reach a hand up
hoping it is your face that
my fingers rest on.

I imagine myself standing on the edge
of a skyscraper,
and we're holding hands
looking each other in the face.
The wind whips my hair
and the hard rain clears my senses.
We give each other a glance,
wondering if we'll let the voices win,
and then when we meet eyes,
we know that we need to jump together.

You took one final glance in my direction
as you watched me leave for the last time.
There was no movie ending where you run back
after me, yelling that you made a mistake.
I didn’t end up in your arms, kissing your neck
and saying that I forgive you for the moment
you had a lapse in judgment amongst the tears
I was attempting to choke back.
You just looked at me with no disdain.
I got one final touch from you where we hugged
and then as I departed, I was the one that looked back.
I wanted to see if you were watching me leave.
But all you did was turn around towards your apartment.
You didn’t look at me, you didn’t walk me to the train platform,
you just turned around selfishly as I cried to myself.
I wish that you hadn’t have acted that way.

So much fiery passion
burning to break free
from the prison it's
being kept inside.

It's your hair,
and it's your eyes.
While I could drown,
I could also be saved.