What was more startling than the intense roar of thunder
sounding through the ever growing darkness
beyond my door,
was the sudden realization
that nothing would ever be as it once was
and never would it be again

Though the rain must fall
to brighten the days ahead
nothing was certain now
nor of tomorrow
and tomorrow again

Certainty had vanished along with the thunder
and left the darkness
beyond my door

The sight of you makes her sick.
So sick,
Just **** her if you might..
You’re like the stain of bleach,
on her tongue,
In the back of her throat…
Like a day she’d like to forget,
But it flashes,
In her best days,
Making her so ill.
Through stained glass,
She tries to move on…
But..
What now ?
You’re like a recurring decimal.
Like the constant in my experiment,
Like the sand ,
On the beach
I hope the tide just washes you ,
A
  W
       A
          Y ….

Away…

Soon you'll be memories,
You'll stain
Leave marks here and there,
Like dirt
On a kid's shirt after play.

Funny thing is,
It'll be good ones
good memories,
She'll press you
Between her pages of poetry,
and so it will be,
in her head.

Given in,
Given up.
The leaves sacrificed themselves for winter,
yet the trees didn't seem to give a ****.
The trees make letting things go so easy.
       If we were able to let things go and watch such things fall away from our branches and wither away and die into little colorful piles on the dirt, for colorful sticky little people to jump into and send flying into the air,
     we would have no "care".
               There would no loss, tears, Kurt Cobains or fears
               of losing the ones we love.
There wouldn't be Hallmark cards for issues.
Kleenex would stop making tissues
and start making plastic plants or cheap patio furniture.
Unfortunately, we are not trees.
We cannot let go of our leaves.