The holes in the ozone layer have cracked
and all the fog is rising
and diffusing into heaven
where the angels choke
and lay dying
beneath the sky stained black.
Light up the dark with the flick of a switch,
the power will simmer as circuits brake
because now the sky is dimmer
then ever before.
The glow at the end of the tunnel is weak
and the angels no longer sing
because their lungs are heavy with the sting
of the smog that fills heaven
too much for fragile eyes to handle.
Tears dissipate and trickle to earth
but these drops are not enough to reverse
the draught and dull of the human curse.

And it all comes down to
who goes down on who
because a necklace of bruises
is worth more then diamonds
and words fade faster
then a back full of scratches.
Hands are for more then holding
and sheets serve another purpose;
messy hair tells a far more captivating story.
Because legs are intended to shutter
and sighs that expel uncover
far more secrets then your lips dare utter.

Unsteady pedestal,
wall of thin glass
as fragile as skin fluorescent.
An exhibit to contemplate;
ponder and pick apart.
Take an ax,
spare my flesh.
Break in on a starless night
and liberate me
from haunting glares,
intoxicating gasps
as if you've never seen a lost girl before.
"Look at her arms scared black and blue"
"And beneath those bandages is a heart never fully healed."
The whispers accumulate as they remove magnifying glasses from their pockets
and gaze upon streaks and stains
that never fully washed off.
What is it that they love to tear apart and analyze?
Maybe it's the lies.
Squint your eyes and read between every line;
you'll still never understand,
too many pages have been torn out;
eradicated.
Scribbles cover missing words like
I love you
I miss you
I hate you
these windows serve their purpose,
of creating a show from a fragile spectacle
about the girl who never seemed to feel enough
or at the wrong times, felt too much.
But even the strongest glass can crack,
and a pedestal won't hold her weight forever.

i know i am young,
i know i am only seventeen,
but when i think of him
and his incandescent smile,
my heart swells and beats in time
with the cadence of his alluring words

his mind is like no other,
filled with such deep
and captivating thoughts
that flutter from place to place
like a moth, and like a moth
i am drawn to his brilliance

i long to hold his face in my hands
and trace his lips with my fingertips
and when i close my eyes
all i see is the way he looks at me,
as if i’m the one who paints
the summer evening sky

i know i am young,
i know i am only seventeen,
but i think i could spend
the rest of my life searching
and never find anything
nearly as beautiful as
the way he loves me

Cigarettes are enticing
when they are inhaled between
the lips of a beautiful boy
with a perfectly crooked smile
and mysterious eyes.

But his smile is stained
with traces of nicotine,
and the puzzle in his eyes
is impossible to solve.

And when you kiss him,
you can taste the stale smoke
lingering on his breath;
the stale smoke that has filled his lungs
and left them black and tarred.

He says they’re nice
when you’re feeling numb.

So you take a drag
in hopes of filling your lungs;
filling your emptiness.
But it leaves you black and tarred
all the same.

**m.s.