we gather around the couch
with our fuzzy pajamas and fluffy socks.
singing jingles and carols while we watch the snowflakes drift off in the wind.
staring at the blinking lights on a pine tree graced by a shining star on its tippy top top.
Waiting for the little jolly fat guy..........

Her lipstick is the color of the dark rich blood that runs through her veins.
she steps on crunchy orange and reddish brown leaves while making her way to her new lover's home.
breaking my heart with each quick breeze traveling behind her that carries her sweet perfume.
gripping my heart with the crisp morning air and fallen leaves
........I'll just wait for winter

An ice cold heart drenched in a pool of smoke and ashes
that is visited by demons that disguise themselves as angels called "boyfriends" and "lovers"

When all the petals are wilted and the skies turn from blue to gray
the birds will stop their melodies and begin to hide away
The apples will fall from the trees and rot in the sun
This is when I will know when the day has come
.......to tell you im am ready.............for love...................

Her hair flows like willow tree-tops in an autumn breeze.
Her lips are the color of fallen rose petal that have been stepped on.
Her skin is rich like chocolate in Belgium, just waiting to be tasted.

I am glass
my heart is a chandelier
beautiful but if shattered it may become deadly
it'll hurt all that come across its path until all my remains are on the floor
begging to be reconstructed.
I'm full of broken promises and painful memories that I wished would be erased and completely deleted
my prayers would fill bottles of wine and I could drink those spirits instead..........I am a piece of shattered glass

our memories fuel my weakened soul...........with a concoction of sweet bliss and sorrow
I've sipped aged red wine from your collar bones
and was blessed by the touch of your skin.
when the rain poured it still didn't smear the imprint of your lips on my  cheek.
I still remember the sweet sugar glaze over your eyes when you looked at old pictures of your grandmother.
The family trips
The thanksgiving dinners and the sweet echos of laughter.
The old flower petals you kept from her funeral and the note you found that she left for you when she knew the end was near.
You used to look at me with that same sugar glaze sort of trance.
But things seem to be different.
The picture frames are broken
The trips have been called off
and the flower petals have dried and crumbled.
But there's still a hint of that sugar glaze love in your eyes......