Sometimes we don’t understand the promises we’re making,
Young adolescents whispering  ‘always’, as if they understood its meaning.
Always for love and for there to be an ‘us’
I left such foolish promises behind,
After I had promised three too many eternities

The truth is, I won’t love you for very long,
After time we’ll each be within another’s hold.
All the forever’s I’ve promised have never surpassed a year
The promise of ‘always’ like a macabre eventual promise of demise,
Causing unrealistic expectations, and leaving one soul cleft.

Now the promises I make are far and few between
None a reflection of eternity –
Now I promise simple things of self, realities and truth-meanings.
Like how I will be forgetful, selfish and difficult at times
Yet, while we may have a short sentence, for those moments, I’ll love you deeply.

I have walked by
Your eternal bedside
Many times I have cried
For the loss of innocent lives

I have walked by
Your past life
Memories locked in
A closed casket

Never to be met again.

When they bury me
can I be buried with you?
Lying side by side

Dead,
holding hands
so that my bones
and your bones
will be our bones,
it has always been you and me -

Ensuring that our promises
will not burn out like the candles flame
let me held by you for eternity
as I will forever be holding onto you,
onto our memories.

Promises made when the breath
that was fresh within our lungs
will seep into our bones
and hold each other there forever

memories, promises, stories
lingering in our remains

Seven has an entirety about it,
a hidden wholesome within its meaning -
days, story-telling, sins and the word of Him.
The number beholding something greater
that can truly be perceived.

Seven has another meaning, a secret
only known by me -
the age when my home was broken,
the times that he hit me,
before the beating came to a stop.

There a seven pieces of me
which make me whole.
Not horcruxes, but physical segments.

My past and present,
the writer and the fighter,
the dream-daughter and the friend,
seven being the demon,
to which all the others attend.

I find myself hiding
in your dreadful, gentle smile.
It seems to help the pain
as my hearts on standby.

Even though you are gone
My blood is flowing here
From my wrists to the floor
It keeps flowing -
pouring -
trickles -
stops still.

Watching from afar now
You’re going to waste away.
I remember the Winters, Summers -
The actor you were through-out.

The issue's in your eyes -
an inescapable truth!
My heart is empty, veins run dry
still you continue to smile


That dreadful, gentle smile.

She came to me, clutching her hand
as if she was clutching her life
Her little sobs
As delicate as dying breaths

She looked at me
with those bug-green eyes
pleading for my attention
for once to nurture and care

Within her *******
was a splinter
that she tried to rescue herself
instead shoving it further in

She took a sharp breath
as my magic hands
set it free -
set her free.

I sighed to myself
as she skipped away

For who is there
to rescue the splinters from me?

I must admit – to other perfect strangers
Never to you, the stranger who wasn’t really stranger,
I was only stranger to you –
Your game was impressive last night,
Your wit and charm, like the prince himself
Your efforts most admirable, quizzing my friends
Then to recite the most beautiful, perfect poetry to me

That star-like glitter in your eyes, like night sky
Caused a secret smile and sudden thuds of my heart.
I know by evening end, when drunken bodies worshiped other guests
And I was still ignoring you, not hard to get, just leaving you a fool
You must have cursed me – or seen me as an excessive ***** –
Slight apologies for not bowing and giving you simple bliss.

Truth is – I desired you so desperately –
Every inch of your imperfect body – all the morsels of your soul
To invite you in and worship you, love you and lay with you
‘Til morning would steal our drunken pleasings
And leave us with awkward reckless, though perfect memories –

You were no stranger to me though,
And it cleft my heart and darkened my soul that I was stranger to thee.
When we were sixteen we were so in love –
Or so future revealed, I with you – you with other girls
I lay on your floor shedding tears, like an animal hairs
Begging you to still love me, to entertain my pleading even.

So last night – as cruel as it is
While you forgot the many kisses I had traced on your lips
And the stories I drew on your spine –
I smiled because even though I was stranger,
Finally -
it was you, whom begged for me.

How could I love you
The way you love me?
Can’t you see
you're suffocating Me ?

The mistake I made
was not what I had always believed it to be -
nor what you believed me to be

It was all just smoke and mirrors
An act of endless defiance
with games no one knew they were playing

The error was not in our ways
It was in the question - or questions
I had forgotten how to ask

Life broke me down and
shaped me into being the clone
I never wanted to be -

Another conversation
with nothing to gain,
no party listening
to the breath leaving
the others lips.

Another battle -
lost,
through the art
of talking.
Words formulated
to fall upon deaf ears.

Language could be
the patron saint of the lost.
Causes lost,
and the death of love,
all because one
seemed greater than two.

I want to shake off
my private misery
and live a candid life
of my public philosophy

A being split
caught in the crevice
of right and wrong.

The difference between
living and existing -
breathing and dying.

" If I write you a love poem
it probably means I hate you "

From one beginning
there can be many ends -
as they dying become wastefully dead
but the living,
they breathe in each living breath!

Which choices do we have to make?
Yes or no,
which will be the mistake?
To keep going - is our aim
Can we end up differently,
from that which is planned?

One circle must be turned
like a coin tossed -
still in spin.
But once caught,
is that our fall?

Or remain trapped, caged, closed in -