Dilapidated buildings
suburban decay
post-apocalyptic
so the passers-by say

Scores of families
found a calmer existence
escaped the ever-present roar
and maintained their distance

But your faded grandeur
can even now be found
your overgrown majesty
still stands its ground

And while your location
has become unsuitable
it was your sudden abandonment
that made you so beautiful

I wish I wish he'd
stop with the hitting'.
Whenever he's
present new
bruises start burning'.

I wish I wish she'd
know of my burden.
With monsters their
presence I
locked in a cavern.

I wish I wish they'd
hear me sighing.
Judgmental minds
present that
keeps me from trying.

And
I wish I wish you'd
see through this poem.
Acknowledge my
presence and
tell me I'm mistaken.

Because it's not.
_________________*
Alt­ernate ending: just for a laugh

I wish I wish you'd read through my poems.
Acknowledge my
presence and
perhaps,
leave me a comment.

Everything is sad
if you want it to be.
Life is sad.
Living is sad.
Feeling is sad.
Hearing,
hoping,
all that you seek.
Deep down you know
is already dead.
People are sad.
Our fate is sad.
But it is not set.
It's only true
if you believe in that.

i see the sadness in your eyes when you think no one is looking
and my insides are screaming because there is n o t h i n g i can do
the way you curl up to protect yourself
i know that feeling
i k n o w
because i feel it every single day of my life
i still the way you felt against me
locked in your arms i've never felt so safe

{KAH}

this is my anthem of negative three
beneath the frosty pine
it is buried, underneath the tree
beware of the blizzard approaching you
seek the candles in the dark
I meant to make my mark
so you are lead to me again
is this real?
my longing and faith in august are still breathing
winds make this north, then south
but you're coming from the west and I'm coming from the east so we'll meet halfway
I'll define and rekindle this fire
and its smoke will guide you
back to me
is this real?
this is my anthem of negative three
buried beneath the pine tree
the ice covers it like
mittens on your hands
the hands that hold mine so tight

-cj