Heart skipping beats.
Hands enclosed in
what should be a causual
embrace.

Smiling like I haven't
in such a long time.
You're presence fills my
lungs with air.

Air that was taken by another's
hurting heart. ****** out
without regret.

Our paths collided in
a drug induced-haze. My
mind set so raw I would of
given you anything.

You're eyes drank in mine,
Calming my tears. You
stopped my advances, knowing
my fears.

Now we float in the sea
of uncertainty. Reaching for
each other through the
parting waves of time.

You're leaving so soon.
Starting your life.
It seems i'll stay here,
remembering that night.

Sometimes I catch
myself.
Thinking about your
face.

Where you are.
Where you're going.
If you're missing me....

Yet.

I don't miss you.
I don't regret you.

But I know,
that sometimes you
think about me too.

Where I am.
Where I'm going.
If I miss you....

Still.

The answer is no.
I love you, but no.

She can have you're
hollow heart.
You're just a shadow of the
boy I loved.

I'm not jealous of her holding you.
My heart doesn't break at her seeing your smile.
You are not the person you used to be...

Now.

She can have the cheap
knock-off,
You can downgrade for her.

I'll move on like I do.
On and farther away from you.
I don't need who you've become...

Anymore.

Most days,
you are all I want.

Your heartbeat next to mine,
feet kicking inside me. The first
moves you'll ever make. Just
for me. Just between us.
Most days.

Some days,
I make myself sick.

The sight of my stomach, so
flat and empty. My womb so cold
and dark without you there. The pain
is so real it forces me to my knees.
Some days.

Most days,
I dream about your life.

The colors I'd paint your room.
The music I'd play, the kind that's
supposed to make you smarter. The
stuffed animals that would clutter about.
Most days.

Rare days,
I hate you.

For teasing me with a chance
of life. For pushing away the man
I loved. As if any of it is your fault.
As if you chose to die before living.
Rare days.

Every day,
I think about you.

Endlessly.
Painfully.
Joyfully.
Lovingly.
Every day.

Non stop,
I love you

No matter
what happens,
this love will
never end.

I used to think a ring,
meant I could have you forever.
That I'd always be there,
in the front of your mind.

I used to think a ring,
came attached with a heart.
Just the way your's
came attached with mine.

But a ring doesn't mean very much.
You've made that unbearably clear.
I wish you'd give my heart back to me.
Since I've given your's back to you.

Lost in a dream of endless beauty,
my body disappears in the tall soft grass.
It tickles my skin as it blows in the breeze.
My hair billows out like a red wild flower.

I am part of this place.
I belong here.
This field is mine.

Above me the sky stretches on without stop.
Dotted with puffy cartoon like clouds.
The sun bathes my skin with warm kisses,
setting my hazel-green eyes ablaze.

Everything breathes innocence.
A new beginning is in the air.
I try to soak up the feeling.

Underneath my back the earth shakes with life.
I can feel the snakes writhe, the rabbits hop. I can
feel the bug world teeming with activity. I can feel
new shoots of grass breaking through gound.

My body may leave this heaven,
but I never will.
I will rest forever here.

I am not a godly soul.
I am no fool to be told:
when to pray and how
to act. Breaking my back
for some divine pact.

But without god,
where are you?
Does that mean your
soul has withered, too?
You have passed
without us meeting.
But when I'm ready,
will it be you I'm seeing?

Or are you simply
bled and flushed.
Kicked out of my home
much too rushed.
My structures could not
bear your life. You're
cradle broke, despite my
plight.

I am not a godly soul.
No book of hypocrites
can tell me no.
I don't search for answers
in the form of prayer.
But I'd believe in god,
if I could have you here.

Searching for beauty
she stumbles in
darkness.

Convinced the mirrors
on the wall will
talk.

Telling the world
her ugly secrets.
Telling the world of
her inescapable flaws.

Searching for happiness
she clutches at
porcelain.

Loving the purge
in such a sickening
way.

Her insides roll with
aching triumph. Her
lips form a smile on her
***** smeared face.

Searching for peace
she carves out
her skin.

Silencing the voices
that drive her to
this.

Rubies fall from her
open wounds. Lips quivering
at the thought of it all
stopping to soon.

Searching for perfection
she puts on her
face.

Paints her lips
red and straightens
her mane.

Sweaty palms smooth
her barely there outfit.
It's time to test all her
self-injury effort.

If life followed logic,
we could all get through easily.

Join hands and think through
wars like they were a word problem.

If life followed logic,
we could negotiate fear.

Bargain and trade for a better
phobia. Trade the darkness for a candle.

If life followed logic,
we could hold court on heartbreak.

Sentence people to live a life of letting
others down easily. Set bail at telling the truth.

If life followed logic,
we would be at loss for purpose.

Because we are here to experience things. Not
sit in a chair and smile at one another.

I want to see how your mind works and weaves.
You cry out for my happiness
but it's worth nothing more to you than
stained carpet.

My skin crawls when your presence wraps around me.
It suffocates my skin like
thick black tar dripping down my body. Burning hot,
but making me numb.

We're not supposed to be like this; stuck in such a mess.
But then again, when have we ever been
any different? Happy memories are so foggy I have to
squint to see them.

Soon can not be soon enough for leaving, but somehow
I feel bad about leaving you behind.
My heart, a boiling cauldron of bitterness, still breaks
seeing you cry.

Maybe the stork dropped me down the wrong chimmney.
Perhaps I wasn't supposed to call
you Mom. Then again, I don't call you that anymore
anyway.

I can't seem to get out of this dry spell. What do you all do when you have writer's block??

Does anyone have tips on collaborating with another writer on a piece?

Hearing your name ripples
mountain ranges down my arms.

I can't help but grimace
in complete lack of surprise.

I no longer find my interest
in you to be amusing, and
I'm reminded once again
that every mistake has a shelf life.

I wonder when
I'll stop finding myself here.

Backed into a corner
by my own misguided taste.