Time heals all wounds, they say,-- but -- heartbreak --I--s a wound deeper than most. What if that was the first thing she has ever --lo--st? They said she was too nai--ve,-- too young.  And it hurts knowing they were --d--ead wrong. It hurts her knowing it ended real bad. It hurts trying to understand. She remembers the lips she once had tasted, and she remembers t --h--e     t--im--e... all of it wasted. She remembers the passion, the love, the way time would fly. And now all that's left is hatred, the blood, a final good-bye

If only I were a clerk
sent by some company
to inventory you.

I would be very
thorough.

Toes to nose,
thighs to eyes,
hips to lips,
north to south:

not one
delicious morsel
would I overlook.

Of course,

protocol would require me
to kiss, taste or touch
each lovely portion

for quality control.

Yes, I would be
painstakingly thorough
indeed.

That is a job
I could love.
   ~mce

the way the rain peppers itself across the pane
giving spice to my plain, dreary, life
i lock my fingers with my own
as if to numb the pain
of being alone
the way
you
look at me
gives me hope
like no other before you
i do not feel the need to hide
the parts of myself i feel arent worthy
i never wonder why im the way that i am with you
because to wonder is to distract myself
from the wonder that is you

Remembering Greece,
I imagine you there now:
naked, skilled in spells.

Your toes in the sand,
your bright green eyes radiant:
island conqueress.

   ~mce

Run. Run. Run.
Don’t Look Back.
Don’t Think.
No Plan.
Just Run.
     That’s how I remember it.
   I love it.   From that point on
   It,
                                                                ­was
                                                                ­        MY
                                                      ­                          life.
           Then I thought
               I paced
                    I turned back
                            To the hell I live
                                                    I like school
                                     I don’t like home
                            I like mom
            I don’t like home
Why?
You Don’t know
me
my life.

In fact, it was about you. It always is; it always was, always will be.

You can't see,
as I wouldn't show.
It's an art colouring,
with hidden secrets,
you are the one with the secret soul.
The false veil is taken.