I speak not of peaches, chapstick, sunrises or fallen nights.
(K)nights fought over love never found.

A(r)mor rusted over from her tears,
He always like to jump through puddles, watching the wake.

sometimes it woke his fears.




Monsters under the bed.
If only he could cross the room he’d be
      safe (-ly
                                                                                      locked away,
he lost the keys to
  the him he used to be.)


I speak not of burning trees or cherry seeds ( planted down the lane)

I've surrendered to the (k)night
but with one last thought,
I know I can win the fight.

Bicycles and icicles remind me of you.


Cold winter nights
                     feel warm,
              just with the thought of
                            You.

You send my mind
                round and round,
   while you peddle to find solid ground.

Bicycles and icicles don't go well together,
                                          neither do you or me.


But that wont keep me from thinking of you.

tonight i know it all has to being with the end

we'll start again


from the beginning where it doesn't hold us,
 and it hasn't molded us into something we're not.


our story's twisted, wrinkled,
 flipped, and folded
 its hard to hold our mistakes on the paper.
 so lest just let it spill of the pages, back to the ages they belong.

We'll start again

from the beginning where it doesn't hold us,
 and it hasn't molded us into something we're not.

Our fights made us stronger until they broke us.

the word floods my mouth as a mix of hurt and anger.

i try to reverse it, but its too hard to swallow.

i stand on my head, hoping that the word might just slip out,

but the ones i've reserved for worthier people are starting to shake loose.

i eat spoonfuls of kind thoughts, but they get all ******* in knots.

****        y

                                        o
­

              


                                              ­                                                                 ­ u  


i can breathe again.

I can only spend do much time trying to see the world through your eyes.


These words,
twist from her shallow breath around her fingers.


The mark the world left on her,
she tries to recreate over and over again.


We posses little power in this world, but what we do, is strong.


She holds he hands out to the world wearing her scars,
cupping the next moment like it’s her next breath.


She does this out of necessity.
Her heart beat fills the silence.
She drains the gold from the sky with quiet clicks.



She catches lost words off of the wind, and captures them through her own.

My fingers
stopped spilling
the words my mind
was spinning because of *you.