After that night the bags under my eyes never went away and streams of white hair made their appearance.
My insides felt like they were planning a revolt and every bit of humanity I had left vanished with a siren like shriek.
My tears felt like acid and the carpet still looks bleached where they fell from the waterfall on my face.
My breath had been stolen by the two ton weight on my chest and I didn't want it back.
My heart had proclaimed its demise because surely nothing can strive after being torn in two.
My eyes wept, my mind wept, even the hands that you used to hold so dear have wept.
After that night my fear has never went away, and even with death, my love never will.

*Some broken hearts just cannot mend.

I can't tell you what it's like to feel like dying.
I can't tell you how I'm so afraid of death but I play with it like its a childhood friend.
I can't tell you what it's like to cry yourself to sleep for the 47th night in a row.
I can't tell you how I feel when I wake up screaming in the middle of the night.
I can't tell you, but I can show you.
I can show you what it's like to feel like dying in my playful smile and dull eyes.
I can show you what it's like to be afraid of death but play with it because I have scars on my body but I refuse to go to a funeral.
I can show you what it's like to cry yourself to sleep for 47 nights in a row by my blood shot eyes and bags underneath with tear stains covering my pillow.
And I can show you how It feels to wake up in the middle of the night screaming by the empty Xanax bottle in the bottom of my purse.
I can't always tell you the things that are going through my mind, but you can't say that I never showed you.

My friend cannot forgave his wife
for not caring about him anymore
The idea of not having his shirts iron crispy
or having those long walk in the park together just to keep up appearances on Sabbath
Knowingly, it’s all about keeping it holy

when I left the Island, he thought about me
he locked away the love he had for me in a shoe box
and kept it hidden deep in his hiding place

Apparently, he guard it like an old elegant wine
Although, I thought of him throughout the years
I never wanted him to remove the love he had for me from
its hiding place:  I held on to that one portrait,
he held dearly to his heart

Images of the fountain scene:
I with my blue jean,
He with his John Travolta pants
Little did we really know?
Love never conquer all

We shares old photo from the shoes boxes on Sunday
He mumbles words like;
she had love dressing up
She had fairly long black hair,
our only son, she poison his mind
“I had loved that boy;
I saw the bones in his face cringed
Before, he told me that he wanted to make a bonfire
with those memories.
That when I stopped him in his tracks
Was it her ***** or her fat rear-end bewitched you my friend.

Those stretch marks are not tiger stripes.
Instead, they are the waves and ripples in the reflection of the ocean on the side of a boat.
They are proof,
of a death before birth.
Proof of a still born baby's water birth,
and how the pool of blood and fluid leftover from the trauma,
became salt water poisoned by tears.
The red lines are the way her eyes looked.
Blood shot and bruised from the previous blows.
They are proof that she lived.
That the ***** donor that does not deserve the title of father, lived.  
And that the baby girl is dead.
She never got to see her eyes open.
Do not romanticize those stretch marks,
saying that they are stripes that were earned.
They are nothing but scars of a horrifying event that she is reminded of every time she sees a baby,
and every time she looks at her body,
because she is no tiger.

I grow tired of the way I look
and tired of the way I feel
regardless of your choices
what I felt seemed real

I gave a lot of time to you
I gave a lot of words
but everything I ever said
just always went unheard

I sang you all my love songs
and kissed away your fear
but you never reached out to me
cause you were never here

I am not ready  to face this man
Who broke my heart into squares?
I am not ready as yet to look him full in his lying eyes
And asked him why did he made my eyes overflow
I am not ready to asked him if he remembers
  the birth of our child, the signal from the moon,
the last Friday night of fish and chips,
I Wailing and speaking in tongues,
being strip down to my waist
I was encourage by him to be strong
But instead I held on to his left hand for strength and support..

That trauma was only for a very short period,
My broken hearts will never heal,
My soul long for answers,
However, to reshape my heart again take courage, but to

* Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting…*

Just before he said “How are you Are you okay?
To slam the door in the viper face once again is a step to healing.

you walked into my life
and then you walked out
leaving a trail of emptiness
leaving a trail of doubt

I opened up my heart
and opened up my thighs
only to find you don't care
and all you said were lies

it was like you were the drug and i was the addict
every second without you i was itching for more
for your hands on my skin, lips on my lips
our secret getaways behind an always closed door
you said i was yours, and that you really cared
your lips washed away every doubt i ever had
feeling your hand on my bare skin
made my mind hazy, but it was never bad
heated hours and whispers in my ear
sneaking kisses during class, i was your secret
holding hands when no one was watching
i really loved you, but i was your pet

Everything
I felt,

You did not

Your kisses used to taste like love,
But now kisses taste a lot like leaving.
When the past calls,
I will not answer.
I cannot let myself be toiled with delusions of grandeur,  
Sighing at a wilted garden once called Eden.
This garden, being the same one we built together,
Belonging to us both,
Has long been abandoned.  
I will let the wilting red roses die,
Just like the memory of the way your kisses taste,
Just like the way you let our love die.