As the cherry blossoms reached for one another
A lady filtered through her memories of yesterday
From her first concert to her very first lover
To the first time she was forced into the fray.

As the winds blew and the leaves danced
Her memories became something of the past
Faces became a blur and unrecognizable at a glance
And all she felt was hidden behind a sorrowful mask

Everything she once knew was fading out.
Replacing confidence with a fearful doubt
Each step, each corner changed in a haste
Each word, each breath became a waste.

No one to help her anymore
All she could do was change her window to a door

- E.A.F

I miss the wish that came true,
I miss the arms that wrapped around me,
I miss the love I received by you,
I miss the comfort that use to be…

I miss the cheerfulness in life,
I miss you when I see a smile,
I miss that you loved my mom, your wife
I miss your hug every once in a while

I miss everything to do with you
Like the peeks on my cheek
All the times you said, “I Love you”
And the part about not being weak

I miss not hating myself,
I miss that wish that came true.

- E.A.F

Valentine, oh, valentine
How I hope you hear my rhyme.
So that it is perceived correctly
And spoken, with words formed by me, directly
And for you to understand my love for you
It is no joke, or form of mockery,
but one felt by, not many,
but a few

- E.A.F

A boy said to a girl,
Something that made him her world,
He said, “In every book, in every tale,
They say the hero is always the male,
However, times are changing into a new
And my true hero will always be you.”

- E.A.F

A toadstool is swelling
inside my limbic system.
Spores sweat amongst tissue cavities,
dining out on grey matter,
until they force me
to stay in bed through the day.

What a thing it would be.
Depression as a fungus.
A mildewed mind as damp sets in,
the trumpet player
with athletes foot,
casting out the air-borne blues.

Misfortunes follow one another
along straits of fate,
as if sadness were a colony itself.
I want to take a pill
to **** the mushroom
that plumes over my head.

You can only diagnose
through words and symbols,
only treat once you set down your pen
and hold the hand
of a patient lover,
of the savant drinking at the bar.

For now I will let air in
through the open window,
watch the dreamcatcher sway
and hang like a tarantula
over the stars and crescents,
spilling out over my bed.

When I close my eyes
I hear the ocean in distant traffic,
sounding as waves when rolling by the door.
I will drown in seawater
and hallucinate a scene
of happiness.

Of a place for a poet's retreat.