You stabbed me with words
that cut like a knife
all the way to the bone
and with all of the blood
that pooled at my side
you only made it worse
when you tracked it up
my snow white eyelet dress
that I wore when we first met
you know, that night by the lake
with nothing but a blanket,
the stars and the sky
and although you're standing here now
as if you couldn't care at all
I let a smile catch my lip
knowing that even then
and even now
I love you at your darkest
and because of this
the darkness took me too.

There's a boy
(isn't there always?)
with eyes so deep
that I couldn't tell you how many galaxies
I've counted when he looks at me.

He tells me about the suicide note in the bottom drawer.

Whispering about not belonging in this world is our ***** talk,
and I kiss his words before they
shatter on the floorboards like
the Sunday I drove too fast around the corner.

I have whiplash from both.

Costumes,money,power, fake identitys, and fame
These are the traits of the heros we know better by name
Batman,Thor, Iron man and more
Are here to save the day
But that's where it's wrong
For they are written and drawn
What about the heros who's names actually do belong?
The heros who leave their homes and family's
To fight for us so we can be free?
They don't know our names
Nor do they feel they need to
They go through suffering just to save you
They die and don't come back because they are not fiction they are real
The pain they feel from a bullet is truly real
They go through sleepless nights and endless days
Because that's the price our freedom pays
They volunteer and sign up for this
No mater the pain they don't give in
Not knowing their names should be a sin
Their spouses and children are home alone
Not knowing if their loved ones will return dead or alive
But the soldiers do this so we can survive
They are the real heros both men and women.
Our soldiers who have faught and died for us
Are the real heros who deserve us
They deserve our recognition and our love
So thank you soldiers for everything you have done for us.

we lived at a staccato rhythm
punctuating each other's
exclamations, yet
traced not a mark
on noteless time: an empty score

dissonant parts leave
not even the faintest of echos



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