Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lyra Brown Feb 2014
oh and how fleeting this little life can be
i try to hold onto each moment before it becomes a memory
how do we survive each goodbye without unzipping our skin,
stepping out of it and screaming:
COME ON. GET IN.
how do we say i love you without making it sound like
an apology
for every tiny exhale that sounds like a discrepancy
between you and yourself and that voice in your head
you know three is a crowd you know you’re not
better off dead
now somehow it’s February and I am waking up to the rain
whose song is a house that lives in and out of my veins
there have been people i have loved while some adored from afar
i don’t see them anymore but they know who they are
i received a letter from my mother today in the mail
she’s trying to become yet terrified to fail
i tell her she’s allowed to have a thousand breakdowns a day
i tell her she’s a miracle simply because she decided to stay
i’ll never know how we manage to survive each other’s love
it’s too small to hold onto and too big to conceive of
and yet there will be heartbreak, great loss and despair
i am going to keep listening to the sound of what’s there
as for time, well he knows he is a great thief
i made love to him on the nights i was devoured by grief
and sometimes i wish i could go back to my old self and say
that she didn’t have to shatter, that things would be okay
it can never be for sure that all things have a purpose
i try to believe in a God without getting nervous
the universe is holding us in the palm of her hand
just know that you are loved,
you don’t have to understand.
Lyra Brown Mar 2014
i surprised myself by how quickly i
trusted you.
i handed you all my secrets with no thought of
the outcome.
and although perhaps it was the liquid courage that punctured
a hole in the heart of my fear of exposure that night,
the next day and the following days after
i was unusually filled with relief, no trace regret.
you are someone i am forever grateful to have met.
and when i cherish someone with my whole heart
i give myself no choice but to show them all of me
not as a test but as a rest, like a pause
in a sheet of music or a moment of silence in a room full
of people.
trust is an art form, it requires practice.
but sometimes you will meet someone you feel you have
met before, perhaps in another life or universe -
all you know is that
your souls are connected.
and so you feel the need to remind them of who you are,
with no eclipse of the ego to distort you.
i wonder if it scared you, if it made you feel things
you forgot you could feel.
when i told you that i am not very good at concealing my emotions,
i called it a curse and you disagreed.
in retrospect, i can see that that was your way
of appreciating my honesty.
blessings are almost always disguised as curses,
it just requires a true connection between two people like us
to strip the truth of its blackness, to lay down naked
side by side underneath the radiant glow of the night sky,
to speak of things we previously deemed
unspeakable,
to watch our fears explode like fireworks
inevitably parting ways in the wee hours of the
early morning,
twin souls endlessly,
tenderly entwined.
Lyra Brown Dec 2012
i need you to spoon feed me
not with compliments
not with adoration
but with strength and belief in your own self
because that kind of ****
is contagious.

i need you to spoon feed me
not with alcohol
not with food
but with a hey how are you? no how are you really?
because I have lost the ability to tell you, to really tell you
you have trained me to make the unnatural
natural
and that kind of thing is just wrong.

i need you to spoon feed me
not with guilt
not with pity
but with something I can't quite put my finger on,
i need something from you that you've never given
something all mothers must give their child
in order for the child to feel
loved
secure
worthy
confident
comfortable

i need you to spoon feed me
not with effort
not with pain
but with self-forgiveness and unflinching honesty
i need you to love me with no conditions attached
i need you to teach me how to walk without failure
in this cold and terrifying world

i need you to understand me
i need you to comfort me
i need you to
i need you
i need
i
Lyra Brown Dec 2012
sometimes i just get so sick
of how fake everyone is to each other like
"Hey, how are you?! You look fantastic!"
i struggle everyday to stay alive and i am running on eight shots of espresso and no sleep
"I'm doing really well, thanks! Yeah, you look great too. I love your shoes where did you get them?"
"Oh thanks, I found them at a thrift store for ten dollars. But I love your lipstick! Where did you get it?"
You don't actually love my lipstick, you just need to return the compliment because you're probably at as much of a loss for words right now as I am
"Oh, thanks, um, some convenience store probably. I don't remember."
Moment of silence
"So how are things at home? How's school? I haven't seen you in a while... Well there was that time we had plans but you cancelled because you had to work or something. It's nice to finally see you."
Yeah I cancelled on purpose and lied about having to work because we have nothing to talk about anymore and you are somehow still so attached to this friendship that has disintegrated that you refuse to acknowledge
"Home is good, school is fine, and yeah sorry about that one time, you know how it is. Work can be pretty unpredictable sometimes! How are you though? How is your boyfriend and all that jazz?"
"Oh my gosh, so great. We're moving in a house together right now, his parents are helping out which is great because I cannot afford a mortgage right now! Hahahaha."
Right, because you're 21 and you have your **** together and I don't but I can't tell you that because you'd never understand and we don't relate on that level of realness wow what do we have in common i can't remember i'm trying to remember but i can't
"Wow, good for you! That's a big step. Well I hope that works out for you. I have to go catch my bus now, but I'm glad we got to catch up, love."
forced hug
"Yeah me too, you are so beautiful and wonderful and I really really miss you. Don't be such a stranger, okay?"
but we are strangers why can't you just admit it to yourself so we can move on
"Yeah! Sorry I just get so busy. Nice to see you too and I miss you lots too. Talk soon?"
"Definitely."
*not
Lyra Brown Mar 2013
i was wearing a black and white
striped dress
one said i looked like beetlejuice
some said I looked like a mime
some said I reminded them of a prisoner
others said I looked like a barcode

i was all of those things
and none of those things
all
at
once
Lyra Brown Mar 2013
i've been out of love for so long i no longer remember
what romance feels like
i used to yearn for it, and sometimes i still do
but right now, it makes me feel sick.

the cute kitchen boy asked me out for drinks tonight.
he has bright eyes and an innocent face and blonde hair
and probably a pure heart.
at first i said "sure!" but then as soon as i walked away
i went into full fledged panic mode
because he probably wants to go out with the girl
he thinks i am, the girl i portray myself to be:
cute, sweet, giggly, innocent, exciting.
i mastered the art of hiding the ugly parts a long long time ago
and i fool everyone i meet.
it's entertaining, and perhaps a little sad, but
it's the truth and i've begun to find comfort in it.

because the walls that surround my heart
have grown very very high, and i am simply not willing
to give someone the power of tearing them down again.
loneliness is more of a friend than anything, and besides,
everyone leaves.
trust has ran out of my repertoire, let alone vocabulary.

i'm just not in the mood
for the falling and the giggling and the touching and
the rush of endorphins and the disappointment and seeing
their sad reactions when i show the person my ugly insides
i'm just not up for
the leaving and the breaking and the wish-you-were-staying
and the mess and the withdrawal.
i do not want to add onto the list of the things i miss.
i'm getting good at going without
and i don't want to mess that up anytime
soon.

i'm ******* fragile and terrified and probably a coward
i'd rather sit at home and stare at a wall
or read a million books
or cry myself to sleep
than let someone in again.
Lyra Brown Dec 2012
you have successfully invaded
every aspect of my life
you have polluted my heart
with love for you that will not fade
no matter how much i may wish it to
you have polluted my mind
with every possible destructive thought imaginable
you have polluted my workplace
waltzing in with your
sugar daddy
wearing your new three hundred dollar coat and caked on eyeliner
drenched in chanel no.5 offering nothing but a silent shout as if to say
i am nothing but a *****
you have polluted my life by asking me
to lie for you
giving me a perfect lesson
on the loss of self-respect

i am stripped bare now with nothing to give
but a false slew of giggles and hugs
responding to your
i love you with
an i love you
and always meaning it
but never, ever
saying it first.
Lyra Brown Sep 2013
the summer passed me by
as quick as the spider that runs
across my bedroom floor when i
can't sleep at night.
catch me if you can it says,
reminding me of the
inevitable.
summer is like that,
it comes and you watch your friends
leave and you hug them and
you fill in the spaces of silence
inside the margins of your notebook
knowing full well that writing the same
sentence over and over does not make
the time pass any faster. but you don't care.
then they come home and sit you down and say,
"want to see the pictures i took on my trip?"
and you always say yes
when you always mean no
and you smile and you tell them
how nice of a time it looked like they had.
and when they ask you how your summer was,
you shrug and say "good"
when really you mean
uneventful, restless, fleeting,
unmemorable.
lonely.
you want to tell them about the two weeks
you spent home alone sleeping on the couch,
watching Disney movies,
you want to tell them how paralyzed you were
by lack of affection and touch and
laughter.
you want to tell them how the heat only
amplified that gaping hole, confirming
your sinking suspicions of always feeling like
you were missing something.
you want to tell them to slow down,
to listen.
you want to tell them how scared you are,
now that summer is over.
you want them to confess to you
how terrified they are, too.
you want to reach into their eyes and find
a river of undeniable resilience
that might sustain you for the next four months,
up until you leave this city.
you want them to spend the night with you
just so you can remember what it feels like
to be held, even if it's only for one night.
summer's almost gone,
despite the remaining heat and humidity.
you challenge the night with one-sided conversations
with yourself in the dark,
even though you know
that is the last place you could ever find
some clarity.
you count the backpacks on the children
and the number of minutes it takes
for a traffic jam to subside.
summer's almost gone,
and you are running out of places
to hide.
Lyra Brown Mar 2013
one of us is going
to die

which one will you
let it be?
Lyra Brown Nov 2012
There is nothing more painful than hearing
The sound of your drunken tears over the phone
You said you were okay
But I didn't believe you and you knew
I didn't believe you
You asked me if I would still bring you cigarettes if you went back to detox
I said, yes of course.
It always comes down to this. I don't have to tell you what it comes down to
Because you already know.
I'll never fall again, you said.
For who? I asked.
For anyone, you answered.
I love you so much, you said.
I love you too, I said.
I'm going to go have a bath.
Okay. Goodnight.
I always wonder when it will be the last time we'll say goodbye.
Lyra Brown Nov 2012
Your words, so pretty they enter
My brain and flood it with dopamine butterflies
Triggering thoughts and memories and I missyous and I love yous and
I hate yous and where are yous and I want yous but I cannot
Digest them anymore. I refuse them. I cannot do not believe them for more than
A few seconds.
Even now, I train myself to cringe. I train myself to deny. Reject. Avoid.
Love, a temporary season for you to give me
I am nothing more than one of the many melting ice cubes down your shirt.
I am melting,
Melting. I am
The puddle at your feet
You are knee-deep in spewing your
Words are what I longed for, for so many years
Had I had them then I might have swallowed them thoughtlessly.
Now I am closed up. Afraid. Your words are tempting yet
Your actions piercing evermore. I seem to attract people of the most intense,
Most compassionate, most real, most ****** up.
Most likely to be inconsistently there. Your fire breathing words melt me
I am
Melting
Melting
I am
Nothing
More than
The puddle at your feet, it's growing now
You are knee-deep in it
Lyra Brown Jun 2014
Sometimes love comes in like a storm without warning,
veiled as a vast ruin with good intentions
entering your heart as an army with no ammunition;
for nobody warned them about what kind of vandalism goes on
behind the wall of thorns that time
can conceive.

Sometimes love goes down easy like the banana medicine
you used to drink as a child,
slowly but surely, the way you would feel wellness well up
inside of you until all your self hatred
evaporated from your heart
with each sugary swallow.

Sometimes love is discreet and strange, reminding you
of days you crossed the street without looking and somehow
did not get hit by anything other than your own stupidity,
making it unable for you to decipher the difference
between the outline of fate and the shadow of coincidence.

Sometimes love appears out of nowhere on the most
ordinary of days during the most ordinary of circumstances,
meaning everything to you but nothing at all to the other person, similar
to the way you can lay beside someone staring
at the clouds on a clear day and see
an angel with a crown of flowers beaming down on you,
when to the other person it’s nothing but a ball of cotton, floating
gently away.

Sometimes love reawakens ancient longings,
desires you used to have and never knew you had;
memories you had forgotten and mornings that made you glad;
causing tears of discovery at how enough you now know that you are,
no matter what has happened, or how deep go your scars.

Sometimes love is enough and sometimes it’s not,
sometimes you’ll keep giving it to someone despite how clear it is
that they just want to be left alone to rot;
and although you can beg for them not to
dig their own grave and declare their defeat,
you know it’s as useless as throwing flowers at their feet
but you continue to love and you continue to pray,
for you more than anyone have seen what can emerge
from the beauty of decay.
Lyra Brown Dec 2012
I struggle with understanding the concept of
"Coming out"
as being gay
as being bisexual
as being anything.
I get that it is important for some people to inform other people
about their personal preference,
but at the same time,
no one feels the need to "come out" as being
heterosexual
or being
smart or talented or sad or confused or angry or irritable.
If someone asks, of course I'll tell them,
but I have become a rather private person in the sense that
I don't feel the need to make a huge announcement to everyone
on all the stupid social networking websites with regard to
how or what or why I'm living.
I guess that is a contradiction because
I am writing this poem and am clearly releasing it to the world for a billion strangers to
potentially read, but I'm a writer, whatever that means so
cut me some slack.
I like boys and I like girls and I love
whoever walks into my life at the right moment and it's
as simple as that.
It's nobody's business and I like being okay with that.
I don't love someone so I can flaunt them
I don't love someone so I can make other people jealous
I don't love someone so I can feel good or validated or worthy.
I love because I love.
Boys are simple, and I have grown rather tired of them I must say.
Girls are complicated and emotional and gentle and sensitive, and perhaps
it would be easier if I had a preference,
but I don't because
my love has no preference
my love has no gender
my love has no conditions
and if someone isn't okay with that,
then that's fine because
it's their problem, not mine.
And that
is just,
that.
Lyra Brown Mar 2013
And I thought of all the people
I so desperately wished I could
Stick my broken hands into
And rearrange their hearts to make
Them love me
And I thought of the million ways
I mutilated myself to fit the mould
Of another persons needs
And I felt the presence of absence
All over again
And I thought of the serenity prayer
They say in AA meetings,
The part about accepting
The things you cannot change,
The courage to change the things you can and the wisdom to know
The difference and I started to cry
Because if the sky can rain one minute and snow the next without
Knowing the difference
Then how on earth can I even fathom
Accepting the fact that I cannot
Even begin to tell you the root of
How I first began to rot?
Because you won’t listen and I won’t spill and my heart is an empty shell I wish you’d fill
But you can’t and you won’t
And there’s no way around it but
If I can’t accept it at least I can
Think about it
And thinking is not better than
Accepting
But it’s something
And something is always
Better than nothing.
Lyra Brown Feb 2013
one thing is for sure:
it's easier
to replace something
than to change something.

for a long time she turned away from the mirror
and watched herself replace
scars with *****,
validating it because at least
she was only hurting herself
one way and not both.

for a long time i moved away from my mother
and turned into a doormat disguised
as a magnet that attracted
people that used me just as often,
and loved me just as little and wondered
why i still felt the same level of worthlessness at the end of the day
that i felt as a little girl.

for a long time i pushed people away
and to this day
i wish someone would have told me
how childhood abandonment will stick with you
through the long haul of adulthood,
but no one did and so i watched people leave
and wondered why they left, where they went
and for the people who stayed, i wondered
why they were still here, and how much more awful of a person
did i have to be
to get them to leave me.

"you wanted this." some would say,
when they found me drenched with sweat and blood and tears
sobbing on the floor
"get up. stop crying. you're being pathetic."
and i agreed with them, because i didn't know
any better.

it's easier
to replace your feelings with somebody else's
it's easier to blame yourself for why others left you
it's easier to assume no one will ever love you
more than they love getting drunk and having fun

but a good friend of mine once told me,
the easy thing is very rarely the right thing
and that maybe she should take her own advice
and that in retrospect, yes,
replacement is the signature replica of how you were raised
but real change,
that is the true definition of a life transition.
Lyra Brown Jul 2013
It’s been almost two weeks
since you let me have
the bouquet of flowers
someone else had given you
to show how important and
proud of you they are.
When you dropped me off
that day and said “here, you should
have these." I asked you why?
and you said
“because I have nowhere to put
them in my car without them
falling over. And because recovery is a gift
and I want to share that gift
with you. They belong with you."
And I smiled and said goodbye
I love you and you said you
loved me too
and they have been sitting on my
kitchen table in a vase ever since.
But now they are wilted and dying
and it makes me sad because
they mean so much to me
and I hate to see them go.
Tonight I will press each flower
into the pages of my journal
so I can keep a little
part of you
with me for always.
Lyra Brown Aug 2013
I am so completely aware of the fact that I have a voice
and so completely afraid to use it because
of what I might say. Because I have a lot to say.
I might say things like I'm not
okay. I might say things like I'm lost and I don't know what
i'm doing, I'm scared and I'm sad, and I'm selfish too. I might
say things like trying to be a better person is hard and
exhausting and sometimes giving up is as tempting as
failing a final exam out of sheer indifference because you know
someone is going to do better than you anyway. I might say things
about being a woman, and how it's so easy to remain silent
in this society, how easy it is to pretend like you don't have an
opinion, you don't have a voice, how easy it is to believe
that you're just an object for men to look at and call you
****, that you're a threat to other women because they're too insecure
to realize that they are your sisters and that sisters should be sticking
together, not mocking or criticizing each other
when the other isn't listening.
I might say things about how sometimes I wonder why
I was brought into this world, because it's cold and it's violent
and it's difficult and it revolves around money. And money is scary
and intimidating because it will never bring anyone happiness and yet
it is the one thing that everyone wishes they had more of. The one thing
that nobody has enough of.
Enough.
I want to feel good enough.
I want to wake up in the morning and feel proud to be a woman,
I want to stop seeing and treating myself as if I am an object,
I want to look into the mirror and have oceans of self respect
pour out of my eyes and nourish my heart.  
I want to be able to walk through a mall or browse social media networks
without being bombarded by images of the latest female pop star
who is making the current female generation look like
self degrading cheap *** objects whose primary purpose
is to please males acting as a an open welcome sign blank canvas
for humiliating labels and comments and
spreading shame as if it were a highly contagious disease.
I want to tell you that you hurt me.
I want to tell you that I used you to hurt myself.
I want to look at you and tell you I am sorry.
I want to tell you that I am trying and have you believe me.
I want to walk outside and hug a stranger and have them say
"Thank you, I needed that."
I want to make a difference, I want to use my voice.
I am so completely aware of these things.
I am so completely afraid. Vulnerability comes
with living a true and fulfilling life. And I am afraid
of that. I want to be a leader in the sense
that I don't continue to act as a vacuum, always *******
false words out of people, consuming them as if they were my last
meal on earth, as an attempt to heal the tiny wounds underneath my skin,
as an attempt to feel whole and wanted and useful and important,
as an attempt to pretend to have never been the people I have in fact been.  
I don't want that. I want life. I want to open my mouth and have
floods rushing into the ears of others screaming
"HERE I AM AND I AM AND YOU ARE TOO AND THAT ALONE IS ENOUGH."
I want to look up at the sky and know
that God himself created this masterpiece for all of us,
because he loves us. Because God has no grandchildren and
we are all precious and worthy and forgiven.
I want to say I love you and I want you to feel it.
I want to say that to myself and really feel it too.
I want to know myself.
I want to know you.
Lyra Brown Nov 2012
I’m sorry I shut you out and blamed you for my own undoing,

You see I have this cloud that hangs above my head and I had begun

To call it home.

My thoughts and feelings got lost somewhere in the condensation phase,

And I trapped them there, only allowing occasional acknowledgment of the pain

I was in, doing as much as I could so as not to show if or how I had been affected by it,

For I am my own prisoner of sorts.

I let you in my cell to feed me water and gruel, but when you asked to spend the night

I immediately pushed you out and handcuffed myself to

The illusion of accomplishment, for lo and behold, I was there supposedly

Protecting myself, abandoning you before you could abandon me.

Over time, my pride turned to boredom which turned to anger which turned

To loneliness, and I had to place the blame upon someone’s shoulders.

There were no mirrors in my cell, so I chose to blame you

For I had forgotten that I even existed.

Your kindness cut into the unripe parts of me, the parts that were not ready

To be handled so gently, where breathing is slow,

Where each time you blink is like having a windshield wiper wash away the rain

From a car so clarity can enter your veins and visceral rearview mirrors.

I unraveled while you were away, I cried over my million losses while I counted

Your continual successes, I was envious of you,

Gradually falling silent to the truth of everything that had once surrounded me.

I was afraid you no longer loved me, for I no longer wished to be loved

Nor did I feel deserving of it.

That wish was strong and I fell down a long and narrow well

Where you were not waiting for me when I finally reached the bottom.

I stayed there awhile, beneath my cloud, locked in my cell,

With the murky water and unforgiving gruel.

You called down to me from the top, your voice

Your voice

Your voice

Oh but how could I possibly forget?

That voice.

It never left,

It never lied.

I can’t promise you I won’t fall down here again,

For my heart is stubborn and I still haven’t learned

The art of removing that which has been engraved

On this selfish mind.

But for now,

I wish to stay.
Lyra Brown May 2014
i scold myself for getting too attached;
i hate myself for loving too much;
i want to hurt myself when i get to the point
where i am scared of you leaving.
i will push you away before i need you
but i am afraid it is almost getting to
that point.
will you leave or
will i have enough courage to let
you stay?
what does it mean to love someone without
the fear of them leaving?
if i hurt myself, will it scare you away?
if i hurt myself and don’t tell you,
who and what would i even be
trying to protect?
when you say you’ll be right back,
i know what you mean to say is,
you’ll be back eventually.
whether that is hours or years,
there is no way to know for sure.
and that is why i look away and whisper
“okay.” because my need to be loved
and my fear of abandonment
are always at war
and looking you in the eye
is sometimes too painful
than me just saying “okay.” and letting you leave
with or without the illusion
of my permission.
Lyra Brown Oct 2013
i inherited an entire library
full of books that offer explanations
as to why you are incapable of loving me.

the romance section was laughable,
giving me bullet point commentaries
as to why i am doomed to never
be loved or feel loved again,
reasons why i settle for beautiful boys who
enjoy my company because i'm quirky, cute, time killer material,
not anchored, solid, strong, soulmate material.
but that's just it, i guess, no one can deny it-
(everyone knows when they are in the presence of precariousness.)

the mystery section offered me nothing but
a full buffet  of questions i already had,
questions that always seemed to give clues to future answers,
delicious questions that tasted sweet at first
then turned suddenly sour,
questions that made me understand the meaning
of a deceptive cadence.
(these books made me wish i didn't leave fingerprints
on everything i touch.)

the fiction section made me feel like a child again,
these were the books that reminded me why hope
is and has always been my favourite bedtime snack.
(these were the books that reminded me that just
because i couldn't make you love me did not mean
that i couldn't make believe you love me.)
since i've stepped out of my fins every step has made me wish
for the courage to throw myself into the sea,
to dissolve in an instant,
to be a daughter of the air forevermore.
(perhaps Hans Christian Anderson was the only person in the world
who knew just how much it hurts to be a human being.)

the self help section gave the illusion of answers,
the way a fortune teller with a foreign accent
doused in flattery and jewelry might seem.
i have spent hours of my existence with these books,
laying on my stomach, furrowed brow, fingers turning white
from clutching the ballpoint pen for dear life thinking
maybe if i just keep
underliningunderliningunderlining
things will start to make sense again.
(because, don't you know? the more you underline
the parts of your life that are relevant on paper,
the closer you are to having figured out your life so perfectly
you eventually will walk by these books wondering
which unfortunate person you should donate them to.)

i inherited an entire library
full of books that offer explanations
as to why you are incapable of loving me.
i think maybe there are some things
that we are never meant
to know.
Lyra Brown Nov 2012
I don’t want to be put on a pedestal

I don’t want to be a trophy or a prize

Hanging onto somebody’s hand as if to say

“Look at me! Look at me! Aren’t I special! Aren’t I rare!”

I don’t want to be with someone just so that they can say

I’m theirs

Because I don’t belong to anyone but myself

And the sooner the next person who chooses to love me can realize that,

The better off both of us will be.

I don’t want to be with someone who’s addicted to something

Because it will just be a repeat of my childhood

And I know for a fact, I don’t deserve to come second.

I deserve to be worshipped and loved unconditionally

I deserve affection and attention and honesty

I deserve admiration and space and understanding

And most of all, I deserve compassion.

I don’t want to be with someone to fill in the other person’s blanks

Because I am not a puzzle peice

Or a drug.

The next time I fall in love, it better be with someone

Who knows what the **** they’re doing

Who knows the fragility of who they’re dealing with

Who won’t tell me they love me

And change their mind the next day.
Lyra Brown Dec 2012
"I'm going to the washroom. If we lose each other let's meet at the bookstore, by the entrance. I'll be right back." I said.
But when I came out of the washroom, they were gone. And suddenly, reality hit.
I am alone surrounded by people
In a mall
Blaring christmas music
Where did they go
I lost them
What if I never see them again
What if someone among all of these people has a gun and we all die before we can hug each other goodbye
I'm alone I'm so alone I'm so alone
I'm ******* alone
I can't breathe.

It was like being underwater with my eyes open
Swimming in a sea full of unfamiliar faces
And blaring christmas music
And the sound of my pounding heart
And failing lungs
Screaming at me
YOU ARE ALONE YOU ARE ALIVE AND YOU ARE ALONE AND THAT IS THE TRUTH WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT.

So I bought a coffee because I choose to believe caffeine calms me down
And then I stepped outside
And cried and cried and cried and cried
I cried for the fragility of life hit me harder than it ever has
How fleeting it is
How terribly tragic it is that all of us love each other so much
And yet we will all die alone.
I cried for how close I felt to death at that moment
I cried for my inability to pinpoint exactly what had made me so upset
I cried because I felt like a lost little 5-year old wondering why no one was holding her hand
I cried because I missed you so much especially at that moment
I cried because I realized how incredibly weak and ridiculous I was acting
I cried because I couldn't even make one lousy phone call to someone I love so they could calm me down
I cried because I felt paralyzed
I cried because the time it takes to say "I'll be right back" is enough time to lose someone
Forever

Once my lungs & heart finally came alive again, I went back inside that stupid mall
Full of stupid people shopping for their stupid christmas presents in sync with that stupid christmas music
And you were standing there, at our meeting spot with a smile on your face and
Relief and relief and relief and you said
"There you are! We thought we lost you!"
And so did I, I thought,
*So did I.
Lyra Brown Nov 2012
a sadness

that wraps around my heart and squeezes so tight

i can hardly breathe most days

it’s a snake that lives under my skin and moves

with sloth-like speed

i don’t talk about it because

there’s nothing to talk about,

there’s nothing to complain about,

there’s no real reason

to be this sad.

i don’t want pity

i don’t want questions

i don’t want attention

i don’t want affection

i don’t want to have to want

anything at all.

i may look pretty to you but i feel

oh so ugly living with this

snake under my skin

it takes all feeling right out of me and leaves me

alone with my tired heart that somehow continues

to beat.

there is a certain comfort in having no one left in your life

to lose

there is a certain consistency in my gaze

but i don’t want to talk about it, no

there is nothing to talk about because

the snake will ruin you

if you dare sneak into my heart

if you dare creep under my skin.
Lyra Brown Oct 2013
The house that I grew up in
went up for sale today.
The house I lived in
from ages eight to eighteen.
The house I wrote my first songs in.
The house I had endless sleepovers in with my childhood friends.
It was in this place that I grew
(And wilted)
And grew
(And wilted).
That house is a land mine of memories. So many ghosts.
Ghosts of my uncle playing guitar in the living room.
Ghosts of my mother at three am telling me between drunken slurs how irresponsible I am for forgetting to turn off the basement light.
Ghosts of my parents friends coming over to “jam”.
Ghosts of me singing old jazz tunes with my grandfather as he played the grand piano.
The music, the laughter.
The drugs, the alcohol.
The screaming the yelling
The trying the crying.
The endless fighting.
The hopelessness and then
The hope.
The loneliness that never left me
Even when I left the house.
The late night hysterical phone calls to my first ever boyfriend,
who brought me about as much comfort as my mascara stained pillowcase.

The house that I grew up in went up for sale today.
The for sale sign is on the lawn.


I guess a home
Really has nothing to do with a house
After all.
Or at least that’s what I keep
Telling myself.
Lyra Brown Dec 2012
one of the greatest tragedies
is not only idolizing someone as a teenager
but have them inspire you to the point where you are
completely, exactly, perfectly
yourself
in the purest sense
because you identify with their simplicity, their humbleness
and the way they write not for fame, but for themselves
only to have time pass, where you are stripped down to nothing but
a naked lost sad scared wide-eyed adult
and that person is long gone only to be found
on tv screens and magazine covers, decked out
in golden dresses and singing for billions in prestigious stadiums and arenas
both of you as far apart and as distant as a corpse from its soul
no trace of inspiration to be found

i used to love you
but now you wear too many necklaces
and too much makeup
and you can no longer write
worth ****.
Lyra Brown Feb 2013
"i miss you"
has become a secret mantra
i live it out
in silence, with
a smile as a defence.

saying it out loud
to you, to anyone
would be a crime
for there are some dark places
one simply cannot revisit.
Lyra Brown Dec 2013
I looked at the photographs

And felt 

The weight of all of the people
I could have 

Become.
Lyra Brown Nov 2012
tastes like black liquorice

smells like skunk

and looks like blood

it wakes you up in the middle of the night screaming

“i miss you”

it tears apart your heart and leaves its carcass in the middle of an open field

for the wolves and vultures to fight over

it’s the kind of loss that tricks you into thinking

you haven’t lost the person yet,

because they are in fact, still here

in the flesh, in plain view

it makes your memory lazy when you think

“maybe this time will be different”

so you go back when they call

when they say jump and you say “how high?”

and they love you and call you baby

baby baby baby baby

then you taste the liquorice

and smell the skunk

and see the blood

and you know, it was all a lie because

that person you love so much, really

isn’t here at all

it’s the worst kind of loss there is

when the heart betrays the mind and convinces you

maybe this time, it will be different.

maybe maybe maybe maybe

but then there’s always the ***** the boyfriend the party

that was long there before you ever came along

and it will always be there

always in the background of this person’s mind when they come running back

claiming that they’re lonely

sometimes you wonder if it would be easier

if the person was actually dead

then you shrug because

you already know how that feels, but

maybe maybe maybe maybe it would feel

a lot better than this and so

you keep loving this person, because

love is what you know and you can’t stop but

even love doesn’t cure a loss,

especially a loss like this.
Lyra Brown Nov 2012
tonight

when they drove

me home

they asked me how you were doing

and there was a three second pause

of silence before the word ***** came

spilling from my heart out my mouth

into the car

i polluted it with facts

facts about you.

they tried to empathize,

they said they understood.

they said they hoped things would get better

but i know they won’t because

they never have when it comes

to you.

i hesitated before i told them,

“she tried.” did you? did you really try?

i don’t know. i looked to you to help me learn

how to try

but i’m horrible at it, so

i don’t think i learned much.

before i knew it, i was home

i opened the car door and all of the facts

that came from my mouth

spilled out of the car,

onto the pavement and evaporated

into  the air

and i said, “thanks for the ride,

i’ll see you on thursday.”

i shut the door and was surprised because

i didn’t feel ashamed

for polluting the car

with facts of you because

they asked and i wasn’t about

to lie.

(i’ve lied enough for you in my lifetime.)
Lyra Brown Mar 2014
to discard a love that hasn’t yet occurred,
to pull away from a pair of lips you’ve yet to touch,
to let go of a hand that was never held,
to obliterate an iloveyou that was never said,
to look away from eyes that have yet to collide,
to reclaim a heart yet to be stolen,
these are things i think about
when i think of you.
Lyra Brown May 2014
Don’t get drunk when you’re already soberly sad. The sadness will become so amplified that you will fall asleep to the feeling of yourself drowning in your own tears.

2. Sleep on the ground without a mattress for one night. You will wake up feeling sore and bruised, and thirsty for the comfort of your own bed. See this as a metaphor for how you feel on the inside. Recognize that the bruises will fade. Find a way to embrace the power of longing.

3. Let him hold you while you cry. Get your snot all over his shirt, sob into his shoulder, let him comfort you. You went without comfort for so long it’s about time you let go and let yourself be loved.

4. Write it out. No one will ever understand your pain down to the bone but you. Bleed out through the pen instead of the skin. There’s no such thing as a page that would rather remain blank.

5. As hard as it is to accept, sometimes the only thing you can do for someone who’s hurting is remind them that you love them.
Lyra Brown Apr 2013
this time last year
i was a very different person
i was living on the north side of town
i was working a job i was good at, but didn't
necessarily enjoy
i was dating someone who said he loved me but was secretly
using me as a distraction and i naively
believed his lies because i was so wrapped up
in my own to notice let alone, care
i thought he was a man but he was just a little boy,
i was miserable
i was a vagabond, i didn't know where i was going to sleep next
i was just trying very hard
to cultivate the feeling of home by making sure i was constantly surrounded
with a rotating carousel of people and it was impossible, trying to please them all,
always being in a million places at once, both
mentally and physically.
i was working for my mother's ex-best friend who controlled and manipulated me
but i was searching for a new mother and she was the closest thing
i could find so i stuck around for a while
just to see if she could love me like a daughter but,
she couldn't, and she never did i was nothing
but an outlet for her anger and a convenient babysitter
for her 10 year old daughter and i felt bad because
i didn't sign up to be a role model all i was signing up for was
love and i was devastated to find that there really
was none there to begin with.
this time last year
my 88-year old grandfather was dying and all i felt
was jealousy
because i wanted to die so very badly but he died first
and i resented that but i kept quiet about it
because only horrible people
would think something like that but back then
i truly believed i was
a horrible person and i actually really did
just want to die so i could find some peace and quiet, at last.
this time last year i hadn't yet met the one person
who would change my life forever, i had no idea
my life and thoughts and emotions were about to be turned
upside down by this angel of a girl who offered me
an abundance of love and hope and complete understanding
and essentially, saved my life.
a year ago today i had no idea it was even possible to look
straight into someone's eyes and see nothing but your own soul
reflected right back at you.
this time last year
i was a broken excuse of a human being,
i was a thoughtlessly tossed piece of blank paper that landed
on the ground trying very hard
to inch its way closer to the trash can if only to be close
to some kind of feeling of belonging
somewhere even if that place was
nowhere special at all.
this time last year
i was a very different person and although i cannot say
i am right where i've always envisioned myself to be
right now,
i am thankful.
for love,
for hope,
for simplicity,
for family,
for friendship, -
the list
goes on.
Lyra Brown Apr 2013
in three days i am going
to get on that plane
and as soon as i feel
your warm embrace
i already know
i am never going
to want to
come back.
Lyra Brown Feb 2013
Time is money
Distance is money
Money is money

But when your best friend lives in a different country and a single phone call from you
Might give her the chance to remember
What real laughter feels like,
A 47$ phone call really doesn't mean anything
In the long run.
Lyra Brown Sep 2013
yes, i remember
meeting you, your candle, extended
i lighted it without you even having to
ask.

you miss that, don't you?
you miss that spark?
you deemed me an angel guiding you
through a never-ending tunnel
of self perpetuating fear and loathing
and dis ease.

yes, what we had was real.  

but i couldn't save you, and even though
i tried, i didn't in the end.
no one could.

but

i was there for you
when no one else was
we were both starving
people, then.

i hardly remember who i was, really.
i was fragmented and lonely and sad
but i was given hope upon meeting you,
and all i knew
was that i loved you
and that seemed to be enough.

but it wasn't, as i learned
the hard way. years have passed
and you contact me every now and then,
out of the blue, as if to remind me
of a person i once knew.

there are some people
you will always know
they become a part of you,
the people that hurt you,
the people that loved you,
the people that left you - haven't
actually left you.

the last time i heard from you,
you said it would be the last time
i would ever hear from you
and there was
a strange peace i felt in that.

because

certain wounds eventually stop
reopening, certain theatres eventually
end up closing,
certain seeds eventually
need some sowing.
Lyra Brown Aug 2013
today
I found out my manager’s mother
passed away
today
I walked by a couple
that were getting their wedding
pictures taken,
I told the bride she was
beautiful.
today
I swam 20 laps and relished
in the moments I was holding
my breath
1,2,3 breathe
1,2,3 breathe
1,2,3 breathe

life is so
devastatingly
fleeting.
Lyra Brown Nov 2012
If I could be anywhere
Right now
I would be in your living room
Enveloped in your scent
The sky would be crying snow
All would be dark
Save for the glow of a candle
Our bodies would move
In a gentle sway
To a tune that would define
That very moment
All would be simple
And full
Each sad spark,
Amalgamated.
We would be held
In the palm of
An imprinted angel
All would be pacified
And possible
All we would ever know
Would be that
Swaying moment of warmth
Haunted by
Togetherness.
Lyra Brown Nov 2013
trading:**
scissors for hair
false smiles for real tears
cruel words for honest confessions
draining corpses for supportive souls
loneliness for solitude
the hum of numbness for booming self doubt
pretending for admitting
hard shell for nakedness
anger for sadness
distractions for reactions
avoidance for opportunity
wide open wounds for well deserved closure
indifference for uncertainty
emptiness for openness
hell for health

i’m trading
ingrained habits for a new consistent way of life
i’m really scared.
Lyra Brown Mar 2014
you will sit there and never love me,
i will sit there and always love you.
and neither of us will ever find the courage
to speak of it.
Lyra Brown Mar 2014
they warn you not to cling to that which you do not wish
to lose
but what if everything is like water in a desert,
or maybe a frozen pole i can’t help but lick,
it’s all so smiling,
unharmed and unaffected,
while i chase my tail
all swollen and restless.
why must the sun set every night?
is it laughing as it leaves?
i have been trying to decipher what the moon
has been trying to tell me all my life.
for a while i was sure she was whispering,
“you are meant to be loved.”
but then one night i heard her shout:
“you are meant to love, regardless of if you are loved in return.”
sometimes she starts sobbing so loudly i wonder how the stars
can put up with her, let alone begin to offer her comfort.
what does the sun think about all of this?
then sometimes i stare at a tree and make friends
with a few birds and ask them the same question.
all they ever have to say is found within the gaps
of silence, betwixt their chirps
and if my mind is quiet enough,
i can hear the beating of my heart, resonating
in those spaces.
when did i stop needing my mother so much?
why do i love so hard so much
so painful i might implode?
i still long for ex lovers,
i still cherish old friends.
but nostalgia has no place in this.
this is something entirely set and insisting on being
right here. right now.
perhaps it is time for another visit with the moon.
i will call out for her tonight, even if my heart skips a beat
at the sound of her sobs.
Lyra Brown May 2014
with my head gently resting on your shoulder,
eyelids heavy with a golden slumber,
i drifted off to the land where nothing exists
but your voice,
reading me poems by Yeats. a single
tear you shed, it fell down your cheek and you
said
“yes.”
you pulled me closer to you, reminding me to breathe.
you held me in your arms like they were a sanctuary
i could live in without ever feeling like my wings
had to be clipped in order for me to be
free.
you mustn’t starve yourself of the things that give you life, my dear,
oh but I know, this life sometimes feels like too much to bear.
food, love, affection
you looked up at me in all your
perfect imperfection
as my heart became so full
i began to float away.
when i look at you, i see stars
and suns and giant moons
i hear fireworks transmuted to verses
of poems and songs i wish I had written,
i feel all the beauty and pain that is needed to be felt
in order to be human.
treasure you,
do i ever
the joy is loud!
when we are
together.
Lyra Brown Nov 2012
it’s hard

to stop staring at you

to not count the seconds between the gaps in which

i’m not smiling

it’s hard listening to you

not because i don’t understand

it’s

the way you speak as if i have given you my heart

and you are spewing out its truth

through a megaphone, its remnants echoing

off of our bodies as if

they were buildings built side by side

it’s hard to walk away from you

knowing i’ve already swam too far in

the ocean of

wanting and not having

treading water,

the bittersweetness of walking away from you wondering

if you can feel the piece of my heart i slipped under your skin

when we leaned in close to say goodbye.
Lyra Brown Mar 2013
About a month ago I was waiting inside the lobby of a bank until the bus came. I was just standing there, innocently blaring Regina Spektor in my headphones to drown out my mind as I usually am, when this tall, *****-blonde, pretty handsome boy walked in.

“Hi.” He said, standing directly in front of me, looking straight into my eyes.

“Um… Hi.” I replied, and pulled out my headphones because I didn’t want to seem rude.

“You have really nice eyes. You’re really cute. How old are you?”

“….Twenty One. Why?” I couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh.

“Because you look so young! Can I see your ID?” He asked.

I laughed and laughed and laughed and didn’t know what to do other than laugh.

“You’re joking, right?” I said.

“No, let me see it. Please.”

I should have told him to ******* right then and there but instead I kept laughing and fumbled for my wallet, took out my ID and handed it to him.

“See. I’m not lying.” I said.

“Oh. That’s weird. You look so young. Like at most sixteen.”

“Okay.” I looked out the window and stared at the traffic. The bus should be here any minute. Get here. Get here. Get here. Somebody save me.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked, standing closer to me.

“Um… Nothing.” **** why did I say that why didn’t I just lie **** why won’t he just leave me alone this is so weird ugh why is he getting closer to me.

“Come for coffee with me.”

“HAHAHA! Why?” I laugh.

“Because. Just do it. Say you’ll do it.”

“Um… okay… Are you high or drunk or something?” I ask him.

“Nope. Just really tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Okay well this is just really weird. Like, you’re so confident and so sure of yourself. It’s weird. Not many people just walk up to someone and do this to a stranger.”

“Well I was just passing by and noticed your eyes and had to come talk to you.” He said.

Finally the bus came, we both got on, and he kept asking me questions.

I was trying to ignore how uncomfortable he was making me feel, how insane he was acting, how he was handsome but most definitely not even close to a gentleman, in fact he was the farthest thing from gentle I have ever encountered. He made me feel like an object, like an empty shell stranded on the shore that was waiting for someone, anyone to pick it up and call it beautiful. This was not okay.

But all I could do was laugh, because that’s what I do when I don’t know what to do.

“I know what kind of music you listen to just by looking at you.” He said.

“Oh, really? Guess.” I said and rolled my eyes. No he most certainly does not. Who EXACTLY does this guy think he is?

“Fleet Foxes, Joanna Newsom… You look like a hippy. A small, young, hipster.” He said.

“Well you’re wrong. Joanna Newsom is okay, but no.” I laughed some more and listed about 30 artists he’s only dreamed of listening to.

“Oh. That’s a lot of music. I’ve never heard of them.” He said.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He inched closer and closer to me until both of our shoulders were suddenly touching.

“Do you want to know who my favourite band is?” He asked.

“Who?” I said, not wanting to know at all but I was getting off the bus soon and didn’t want to end our conversation leaving the impression that I was a *****.

He leaned in close, and whispered into my ear -

“The Strokes.”

I immediately pulled away from him and laughed,

“Why did you have to whisper that?!?!”

“Because I like your mouth.” He said, smiling.

By this time, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, to be flattered or insulted, to slap him or kiss him. Basically I was torn between giving him what he wanted: someone to **** and chuck, or giving myself what I wanted: to get the **** away from him.

“This is my stop.” I said.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked.

“Uh… Nothing.” I said.

“Wrong! You’re going for coffee with me!” He said.

I laughed and got off the bus.

                                                               ­           ———-

About a month later, (which would be probably a week ago, presently speaking), I ran into him on the bus AGAIN and we made eye contact but I chose to ignore him. He did not choose to ignore me, although I wish he did. He came up to the front of the bus, sat beside me and said,

“What’s your name again?”

“….Lyra.” I said.

“Hi, yeah, I thought it would be awkward if I didn’t come say hi.”

“Hi.” I said, and continued looking out the window.

“Hi.” He said.

There was a long pause of silence that satisfied me because I had turned into a porcupine the moment he sat beside me and I was hoping he could feel the sting of my quills lodging themselves into his face.

“I can go… If you want….” He said.

“Well then why don’t you?” I asked.

“You just seem interesting, I don’t know.”

“Well you don’t know me and I don’t know what you want from me but I have nothing to say or give you. So yeah, you should go.” I said.

He gave me an insulted look and went back to the back of the bus where he belonged.

We got off at the same stop which ******, but I didn’t look at or speak to him at all, even as we walked side by side to cross the street.  

I felt relieved, elated, guilty, surprised, empowered, safe, in control.

I felt like a ***** and I liked it.

And I learned a lot from that one small encounter. I learned that being a ***** takes me out of my comfort zone, because I care so much about what other people think of me, I am always trying to come across as “the cute little blonde girl who laughs a lot and is very sweet”. Because that’s easier than being “the self assured woman who doesn’t take anyones **** and sometimes comes across as a ***** who doesn’t give a **** because she only returns the respect she is shown.”

I learned that it doesn’t always have to be one or the other, it is also okay to be both of those girls simultaneously.

I learned that I like attention, but I also like respect. And he made me feel extremely disrespected. I learned that some boys only want a girl for their own personal pleasure. I learned that some boys will literally do and say anything to get pleasure. I learned that it’s okay to stand up for yourself, it’s okay to turn into a porcupine when you feel uncomfortable to get the other person to leave you alone, it is okay to USE YOUR QUILLS.

I thought of all the girls I know, including myself, who have let men use them to get what they want, just to feel beautiful for a fleeting moment. I thought of all the girls I know, including myself, who have been in or stayed in a toxic, abusive relationship just to avoid being lonely. I thought of how sad it is that so many of us hate ourselves that much to let ourselves be used just so we can feel something other than pain for one ******* minute. I thought of how easy it is for so many of us to abandon ourselves like that and how no matter how many times we tell ourselves it’s okay, IT IS NOT OKAY.

I felt sad, but I felt hopeful too.

Because we don’t need someone to tell us we’re cute or beautiful or interesting or **** or funny or talented or special to feel like a ******* human who is all of those things already. We are and always have been, all of those things, regardless of who we are kissing or ******* or loving or talking to at any given moment. It’s nice to be reminded sometimes, but it’s not nice to depend on someone to make us feel like that. We do not need to settle for anything less than someone who ******* respects us and treats us how we ******* ought to be treated.

Most of all, I felt proud of myself.

And I feel like the Spice Girls or P!nk or Alanis Morisette would have been proud of me, too.
Lyra Brown Feb 2013
i’m trying to be strong but i have to admit

living without you

ruins me.

*the hurting continues
Lyra Brown Jul 2013
no, darling. i do not hate you.
yes, darling. i am forgiving you. i am purging
myself of all resentment, hate, anger, conflict, and hurt
i am sweating it out, i am accepting how life is
as life is right now. ***** the idealistic idea of how i wish it were.
life is what it is and that is
enough.
you are enough.
the Mediterranean sea is in my eyes,
I am inviting you to come swim in them. I am asking you
to never dry off. You can breathe under the water
in my eyes. I promise I won't let you
die. Well, the good parts
at least, for death is a requirement for
healing. I can feel parts of me
dying with every passing day,
in a good way, in the way an undiscovered insect dies
so that their body can be used as fuel
for their young.
yes, darling I still love you.
no, darling you do not need to be perfect.
Come, dive into my eyes. can you feel the fresh sea water
embracing your skin? Are you smiling yet?
Take a deep breath and know
that you can breathe here forever,
a mermaid child that lives in the bluest eyes
of the purest heart. i promise i will let nothing
keep us apart.
Lyra Brown Feb 2013
just the fact that you exist
keeps my heart afloat
and puts my mind at ease.
Lyra Brown Feb 2013
i scanned the room and wondered silently how many of these people
would care if i died,
how many would come to my funeral,
what kind of things they would say about me if i
ceased to exist.

i sat by myself
watching them
all the handsome talented boys interacted with the other
handsome talented boys
all the dilettantes interacted with the other dilettantes,
and all the other people just
interacted with the other people.

they made it look so easy,
so comfortable, so almost fun.
so impossible

i became so far removed from myself
i could hardly breathe
i was watching the people and all i could think of
was how badly i wanted death
perhaps not literal death,
but i wanted desperately to **** the part of me that would never be like
the people,
the part of me they don't
understand. the separated
part.

it's an illness.

so i sat alone in a bathroom stall waiting for the next musician to start
wondering when he would call me up on stage
so i could sing
and leave.
the stage is the only place
i feel at peace. i don't have to talk for them
i only need to sing for me.

they were everywhere, i was surrounded by them
i sat alone,
watching them
watching them
unable to complete a single sentence
or feeling
of any kind.
Lyra Brown May 2013
the sound of your laugh is the sound
of me not wanting to die anymore
the last day of this month could quite possibly be
the saddest day of this entire year
this has been the best month of my life and i don't want
it to end.

how
can time be both a curse
and a blessing
all at once?
i suppose it's similar to the life of someone
who is trying to die but keeps
on existing
someone who keeps the door for second chances
closed but never
locked.

one thing i've learned recently
is the difference between someone
who will love me always despite anything and everything
and someone who says they love me
because they're weak with word withdrawal and need
to hear it back.

i used to trust everyone, anyone
who would show a little bit of affection, attention
toward me. i'm glad
that phase is over.
Lyra Brown Nov 2013
oh, what a thrill
to want him so bad it makes you ill
a desire so strong it makes you weak
he who ties your ******* knot so that you cannot speak

he whose gaze penetrates your very core
he who makes you forget what your heart is for
you do not tell him, you do not lie
he makes you forget you ever wished to die

she is probably calling him now on the phone
asking him who has been writing these silly poems
he will lay down beside her when he gets home
she will forget the importance of being alone

oh, what a thrill
to want him so bad it makes you ill
a love so unrequited, i must endure
i am reminded why prevention is better than cure
Lyra Brown Jul 2013
i showed you the con
tents of my crooked heart and
you left me stranded.
Next page