You Got lost in
the deep end of life;
far from the
safe shallows.
Elf-like grin,
leftover from
childhood.

I couldn’t
save you.
9 months of
milky memories and
shipwrecks to
the soul.
Your grief killed
you as much as
the ***** did.
I hope you’re now
resting
safely on the shore.

If in death
there were
dreams of divine
joy, and sublime
happiness,
it wouldn't be
so bad.

Like the dreams
I had as a
little boy.
The ones, that upon
waking, I felt like
I'd been punched in
the stomach.
Heart sick, lonely as
an old hound,
howling in the
moonlight.

The dreams that felt
so real, I could taste
the sweetness of
my favorite candy on
my tongue.
I could feel the
handlebars of my
shiny new bike.
Feel the wind on
my face, as I
raced against time.

The dreams where I
could smell the
honeysuckle in that
beautiful girl's hair.
The one that loved
me, as we walked the
dew soaked Meadows,
and talked about
our lives together,
bobwhite's singing our
favorite songs.

No, death would not
be bad at all,
if we could dream.

There used to be a bottle on the wall.
It was very green.
I'm sure it was the loneliest green bottle
that I had ever seen
It used to sit on the wall
all day and all night
And every day, when I looked out of the window,
it was always in my line of sight
Then one day, a cat came along.
Something was going to happen; I could tell
The cat then accidentally nudged it
and off the wall, it fell
When it had fallen off the wall
it had dropped with a very loud sound.
There were all these little pieces of the green bottle
all over the ground
Then the cat yelped
and I knew it had gotten hurt
I could quite obviously see its paws were caked in
blood and dirt
The bottle wasn't harmful in the beginning
it did not look the slightest bit treacherous
but after a nudge in the wrong direction
it became very dangerous
Now I look back at you smiling
next to me on the big armchair
Your fingers running through your soft locks of hair.
You remind me a lot
of that green bottle.
In the beginning, you were harmless
you were all sorts of fun.
Now you hurt me.
Could you tell me why
as I don't quite know what I've done

When the day was dying
I was back to the market.

The last time I was there
haggled with her over the price.

She wanted to sell high
I wanted to buy low.

You win she said at last
I bought high
but have to sell low.

I knew she was lying.

This time she wasn't there.

Someone said
her man had left for another woman
and she hadn't since been seen.

The deepening evening hung like a dagger of pain.

She was never good at bargain.

Blue,
Gold,
Threaded,
And bare,
Spinning,
Swirling,
Drifting,
Rare
Alone,
But
Not
She lives
In her
Dark world
She wishes,
Wants,
Another to understand
But life has dealt her
A broken hand
It hurts,
But not
A crown
She wears
Thorns,
Bleeding and so, so
Rare