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She said she collects pieces of sky,
cuts holes out of it with silver scissors,
bits of heaven she calls them.
Every day a bevy of birds flies rings
around her fingers, my chorus of wives,
she calls them. Every day she reads poetry
from dusty books she borrows from the library,
sitting in the park, she smiles at passing strangers,
yet can not seem to shake her own sad feelings.
She said that night reminds her of a cool hand
placed gently across her fevered brow, said
she likes to fall asleep beneath the stars,
that their streaks of light make her believe
that she too is going somewhere. Infinity,
she whispers as she closes her eyes,
descending into thin air, where no arms
outstretch to catch her.
 Nov 2013 Krysta Conklin
em
When your cigarette doesn't ash and the cherry keeps on burning, and the way the smoke looks when it's lost it's way in the air,
and how people inhale the fumes like oxygen even though they know it's killing them.

The look of tears flowing from your eyes that match the red ribbons flowing out of your wrist,
and the look of healed scars,
and how behind each one there's a story that might never be told.

Empty people sourrounded by empty ***** bottles, and the way the alcohol burns their throats,
but they keep on drinking it anyways.

The dead looks in people's eye when they're advoiding something they don't want to talk about, and the way screams feels when they crawl up your neck.

The way the moon hides behind the clouds because it too cries sometimes and wants to be alone.
Old photographs that show your process of losing your inncocence,and your process of slowly dying.
The sharp keys on the piano and how the piercing noise hurts your ears and rings in the air.
The feeling of letting go.
Old heartbreaking love letters.
The calls for help no one really hears.
The feeling of kisses when they really don't mean anything other than you're lonely.
The clock that makes every sinking second sitting in the hospital room feel like decades.

The way I can find beauty in everything around me, but I can't seem to find an ounce of beauty in myself.
I haven’t written to you in a while because my pen ran out of ink. It’s my favorite pen because it’s your favorite color. And I was scared if I didn’t use it, you might not know who it was from.
And when I was in the shower this morning the water was cold and it made me think of the time we wanted to stay up all night so I took twelve cold showers.
It’s hard to have your heart break every day.
It’s funny because seeing your face makes my heart break but I smile.
Maybe I don’t want you to know.
You hated it when I cried, I knew it annoyed you because you got those thick lines on your forehead that didn’t go away for hours. You tried to laugh but it came out like a choking sound. Like my tears made you gag.
I try to be strong like you and copy the way you walk and talk because part of me believes I can be you. Because being you was all I ever wanted. It was so much better then me.
I have to buy a new lamp today because I turned mine on last night and it caught on fire. I don’t know how that happened all I know is that my lamp is broken and I’m eight dollars short.
The trees outside aren’t as green anymore. I can smell rain on my porch. The clouds are gray and my violin’s music is dull. My fingers forgot how to play.
I never wanted to say goodbye but I hope one day I can let you go.
Dark clouds on the horizon,
wind razors through my hair
The darkness flying tackles me
And I have no air.

You are my lighthouse,
The smile for my storms
With you I am protected
Beneath arms so warm.

So much have you done for me,
With just one smile,
You erased all my monsters
With there cunning and wiles

You dance with me,
even when theirs no beat
And through the woods you run with me
So fast, so fleet.

Your laughter is contagious
its so quirky and weird
Your hands are so tender
When they brush away tears

you went and bought earplugs
so I could sing.
You encourage my dancing
and that acting thing

I want to sing out your praises
For the rest of time
but I know you would hit me
so I guess I won't try

You're the everything, to my nothing
My water and  my air
Gosh this sounds corny
But you are everywhere!
Thursday, June 12, 2008 at 3:00pm is when this poem was written.
 Nov 2013 Krysta Conklin
obscure
as much as i love you

best friends, for sure

you'll never look at me

the way you look at her
When you were five years old
And your favorite color was pink,
You wanted to be a princess,
Played with barbies in the sand,
The world was your playground,
And you didn't know how to be sad.

When you were seven years old
And your favorite color was all of them,
You wanted to be famous,
Cried when your Grandmother died,
The world was small,
And you were learning what sad was.

When you were nine years old
And your favorite color was purple,
You wanted to be a rock star,
Read ghost stories with your best friend,
The world was full of possibility,
And you never cried.

When you were ten years old
And your favorite color was black,
You wanted to be alone,
Screamed when your best friend was murdered,
The world was a scary place,
And you never stopped crying.

When you were fifteen years old
And your favorite color was blue,
You wanted to disappear,
Made scars appear on your arm,
The world was no longer happy,
And you faked not being sad.

When you were seventeen years old
And your favorite color was who gives a ****,
You wanted to no longer be alive,
Stared at walls for hours at a time,
The world was your purgatory,
And you didn't know how to be happy.

When you were nineteen years old
And you no longer had a favorite,
You took a gun to your head,
Pulled the trigger,
Your world was no more,
And you felt no pain.
 Feb 2013 Krysta Conklin
Morgan
Blue veins and Marlboro lips.
I've got open wounds from my wrists to my hips.
And we've got some left over whiskey so we're just taking sips.
Doing everything in our power not to sink these ships.

He lowered his head toward the steering wheel
And I fell silent just to let him feel.
We watched the kids we grew up with bleed from their noses.
Disappearing with their friends' prescriptions and hanging from nooses.
But he took the deepest cut and came out swinging with the least bruises.
Those dreams of pulling a trigger under your tongue haven't made you useless.
Because the longer you stand in the dark, the brighter the sun is when it diffuses.
 Feb 2013 Krysta Conklin
Morgan
Wear a sundress in the winter
And open your window when it rains
Write a poem on your Math test
And start drinking at sun rise
**** your best friend
And smoke a joint in your bed room
Skinny dip in the day time
And go out without shoes on
Kiss on the first date
And drink margaritas on a cold day
Laugh when nothing's funny
And weep in a crowded room
Make fun of yourself in the mirror
And sit in traffic just because
Fall asleep on the floor
And jump in the pool with your clothes on
Eat chocolate chip pancakes at midnight
And make snow angels in the sand
Love yourself
And brag about it all the time
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