his eyes were fixed upon nothing,
his breath caught in his chest.
a constricting weight,
descended upon his heart.

no longer,
was he her hero.
no longer,
would he hold her,
listen to her sleep.

he bit his lip,
to keep it for trembling,
but alas,
a tear slipped from his lashes,
and got lost in his stubble.

he meant to draw a breath,
to speak his pain,
but a sob wracked his throat.

he gripped the table edge,
his knucles straining with the force.

he steeled himself,
he needed to say something.

'you will never find another love like mine'
he choked.

he watched her berry lips part in response
'thank goodness'.

I am playing with fire,
because apparently I haven't learned.
I'm playing with fire,
and I am not the one who will get burned.

I feel like a little girl running with dandelions,
Their seeds spilling behind me
So that when I give them to you
Nothing remains but the stems
And you love them anyway.
But I’m in tears.

ten minutes of pleasure
nine months of pain
three days in the hospital
a baby without a name
the baby is a *******
the mother is a *****
this would have never happened if the rubber hadn't tore

In the last days of summer, I have seen,
What was in that golden haze,
Was but a dream.

In those fleeting moments, I have heard,
The sound of the mourning dove,
The truth in its call.

These final moments, these endings, are they truly?
What is an ending, but the time before a beginning?

Unconscious efforts to diminish my size
Incapacitating distractions leave me unwise,
Deformed by obnoxious societal lies
Parallel faith, mostly untruths in endless wait
Craving fairness
Awareness
Finding only sophisticated insecurities
Because life, as we know her,
Is a dangerous tease.

Ohhh the elaborate plots,
of a girl trying to depart,
when she needs to ****.

What a striking metaphor,
to the core, for the attack,
against a natural score.

A silent symphony,
silent and deadly :{ buttt,
don't worry, you're too pretty.

I want what I will never have and I have what I could never want.

I look in the mirror and see a man, or what the world says a man should be.
I see strong shoulders and I see eyes that are doing their best not to turn cold.

At times I see a stranger.
A ghost.
A figure that just wants freedom.
But what is freedom?
Is freedom giving up and letting the waves of others carry you away?
Is freedom constantly fighting to stay above water and getting funny looks in the street?
I ask the man in the mirror the same question and he just shakes his head and walks away.
A boy is left standing there.
He gently smiles.