The knife shines in the light.
Try to run but fall; not quite.
It digs in deep, its silver teeth leaving reddened skin.
You scream for help, but no one hears.
The darkness laughs at your face, your blood, your tears.
You take hold of the hilt and try to set yourself free. One last attempt to continue living, but it kicks you hard when it finally sees.
The blade burrows deeper till it just cuts right through,
One last look around.. you fade.
Now you're dead too.

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

How do I escape from this
the fire is rapidly increasing
Just a little dust particle, I am
Waiting for my turn to end
I can feel the heat on my skin,
Panic shows no way out
all that I have come to know,
Is crumbling beneath me now
I have lost all my breath
Every inch has gone up in flames
You were who I chose to save,
you made it out okay
As for I, with nothing left
Turned into a pile of ash
Maybe someday you'll realize that
You're the reason I burned to death

It's propped against the wall,
anxiously awaiting to be played
sometimes it takes week
but often just a day

When she takes it in her hands
and begins to tune it up
it wakes up from its sleep
feeling the comfort of her touch

As she starts to strum along
the flowing melody is found
her voice begins to rise
my heart smiles at the sound

Eavesdropping just to hear her
because she doesn't understand
how I'm overwhelmed with joy
and that I'm her biggest fan

It's not the way she plays
or how beautiful she sings
it's the humbleness she shows
and the serenity it brings

To have that kind of passion
without needing to be praised
my daughter's gift sent from above
gratefully received in many ways

Who brings young girls to life
Who speaks in Savoir faire
Who looks a pure delight
In Calvin's underwear

Who has a body of
The latest in Greek Gods
Who gets the job well done
With a wink and a nod

Who is G.Q. classified
With the bluest of blue eyes
Who has no blemishes
In the perfect camera light

Who is this mortal man
The crowds all bow down to
Who has the golden tan
That you can't get in Duluth

Who brings his entourage
When he goes out for a walk
Who has the whitest smile
With no need to talk

Who has the pouty frown
With the perfect lip
Who wears the bathing suit
But never takes a dip

Who is every young girls dream
Who'd they like to wake up to
Who's clothes have the perfect seam
Who's picture makes them drool

Who has the style we want
The gold tips in his hair
The only question is
Why do we really care