He held her,
It wasn't you.
He kissed her,
It wasn't you,
He laid her head on his chest,
And it still wasn't you,
He entered her world,
She wanted to believe it was always you.

Love is precious,
She admits it,
But every time she gave a man her love,
She regrets it.
As she lets them take a tour,
Of her art,
That's when she felt it,
Lost of control,
The distraction,
Only her work of art,
Gave them the attention.

To be continued ...

She had *** three times this week,
Because she is feeling weak.
It felt sweet,
Each time she felt loved,
Even though she knew,
It was for the moment,
She felt loved,
So it was okay,
Until she laid in bed,
In disgust,
Red drips across her wrist.

She was the
sky
stretched
so thin
she could not
stop the stars
from falling
a fire storm
that yearned
For its flames
To be
back burned
holding her
from her own
destruction
a tidal wave
wiping land and
forest clear and
in her devastation
Her tears would
never be
Enough
and yet
all she
Is;

All she is

Is  
just a
child

with out
love

begging
to be held

I have become a pretty flower
In the garden
Of times
But know not
What is end
Waiting for me

Eraser, eraser
There for mistakes.

Eraser..

Erase her?

Yes!

Erase her, erase her
Right off the page.

She doesn't stay between the lines
And she doesn't need to stay!

Erase her, erase her
She never belonged anyway.

Eraser,
Erase her!

She's too colorful
For this world of grey.

he always said he
could count his
flaws on
both hands

but;
I loved him for
the way
his imperfections
made him whole ..

I saw how his
soul
was so
beautifully
torn and

that all of his
imperfectly scattered
pieces
would always
fit together perfectly
with mine