I couldn't tell you how long you were gone
or even why you decided to leave, but I can
say with certainty that even the shadows started
asking where you went. The walls wouldn't talk
about you but they started whispering all your songs
as Sleep settled in. And even though I couldn't
give you definitive time frames all of us know
without any doubts that you have been gone longer
than the universe existed without planets and
longer than dinosaurs have been extinct.

We know because your ghost moved in to the study
when the walls turned to glass and the waves
became nothing more than the memories of a memory.

Oh ***, I couldn't tell you how long it's been
since you left, but haven't you been gone
more than long enough?

I never meant to hurt you.

It's not you, it's me.
i love you. I'm sorry.

But that is what

everyone

says, isn't it, darling?

Oh Darling,

don't you know
that the love
I have for you
is completely

u n l i k e

any other
in all of history?

Darling, listen to me please, I've only got
one week left to make a difference in this old town.
To pick a name to be remembered by and
do something worth remembering at all.
But I want you to know you've already got
a home in this broken, bleeding heart of mine,
a home completely unlike anything else
anyone could possible have. You look like
you are about to cry Darling.

Darling, listen to me please, this
is not the end, there's no reason to cry.

I'll see you again
someday.

"I need to take a shower
before doing anything else,"
I inform my mother as she unlocks
the door to our tiny, temporary
studio apartment of a home.

"That's what you teenagers get
for trying to wash your hair
with Chinese food," she laughed.

As I slipped into the bathroom
and out of my clothes I answered,
"That's not how it happened!"
I tried to brush my hair clumped together
with sweat and sweet and sour sauce
from last night's left over dinner on the road.

The brush couldn't get through
the mess so I let the water
have its way with my brunette locks
until finally the suds and conditioner
were able to work it out for me.

As the soap made its way
down my porcelain skin I ponder
why teenagers have to be so bold

and what I've gotten myself into
this time. When the sound of bottles
crashing from the shelf pulls me
from my thoughts I turn the water off
and pull on my Joe Boxer shorts and
the XXL T-shirt swallows my frail frame;
she asks if I still smell like fried rice.

"I hope not," I giggle and crawl into bed,
when we turn off the light the room
is filled with two words said by both of us
in unison and dreams of being a
mother myself someday fill my head.

~ Good night

I know you.

You are so much
stronger than this.

I keep thinking that I can write you a letter
with so much love and beauty on the page that
you will not wonder why it never worked
quite so well with anyone else. My pen
has grown to be quite haughty,
she swears it's a task she can
skillfully complete and yet
here we are three years later
and still no where close.

I only remember you as lyrics whispered while waiting for Sleep
to come. I remember you as laughter in a group of close knit strangers
and a joke with authority so apathetic you were a new face
all over again by the time morning came back around.
I remember you as my summer love, autumn mistakes, and
winter lessons. You knew I meant the words "forever and always"
because you always love your first love forever.

But I still wonder,
sometimes,
if you have any memories
of me
left.

***, I'll never forget
you.

You made the mistake
of
fixing my heart
just to break it
again.

Then your ghost
somehow
made it into my
soul.

and goodbye became the
last
straw. While the memories

magically morphed into
daggers
soaked in a poison
called

L O V E

Dear you,

I borrowed your jacket while you were asleep in my bed,
I found the keys to your bike in the pocket. So I went for a drive.
I just needed a night out with the stars, a shot of change
spiked with hope. I had no idea that fresh air would be
more addicting than your kiss or the way your voice sounds at 4 am.
honestly, I thought I'd be back my morning
and I'm so sorry I wasn't.

Love,
*

P.S.

I'll bring you the keys and your bike but
I'm keeping the leather.
For now.

I know. It was because you loved me too much
to stick around and see me in such pain.
You figured it would be better to come back
and help clean up afterwards. But your plan
didn't really work because your absence killed me
so much that I gave up on the rest. I know.

You felt like a monster and couldn't
bring yourself to face me again after the fact.
It was because you loved me too much.0
I know. I understand.

You need to know.
I forgive you.

You need to know.

You should understand.

No one ever said that you have to
listen to me or anything that I have
to say. And still you show up here
every day ready to feast on my thoughts.

Today seems like a good day to
thank you for that. So, Darling,
you are my biggest fan and I will
always remember you as such.

In case you have yet to realize it,
you are nothing more than an enigma
shrouded in the best mystery ever written
and never solved. Perhaps that is
the only reason so many people have
begged you for such small pieces of

your tiny,
shattered,
charred
heart.

I miss the way you rolled over and kissed her
as the sunlight delicately tiptoed in through the curtains
and the way that the aroma from your coffee so
beautifully accosted my floorboards each morning.
I remember the way laughter echoed off of every wall
when the kids got home from school, their jokes are
still whispered from time to time just between the walls and I.
I still feel your routines and the subtle ways you'd shake
my very foundation once the stars came out to play.

What happened to the good life of my forty-five year long friends? Where were you going as the rain beat down harder than
ever before and why couldn't you find your way back?
Your daughter's doll weeps on her bed. Your son's blanket is
lonely and cold. The ring you gave your wife has lost all
it's perfect shine. The scratched CD you forgot to turn off
still plays the heartbroken songs you two loved dancing to
on repeat. We all remember you, but do any of you

remember us?

Even after all this time,
you are still my password,
the face staring back at me
every time I check my e-mail,
a voice whispering words
no one will ever say to me
as Sleep comes
to pull me away

gently.

They tell me you are gone,
that you won't be coming back
it's not like your vacation
across the pond or the summer
you moved back home.

You left clues for me
as you contemplated whether
I was strong enough on my own
or not, I see that now,
words and stories of hope
or encouragement
to hold me up in your
prolonged absence.

But they don't help me
because you were the kind
of person that changes a girl
without even trying.

Even after all this time,
you are still my password,
the face staring back at me
every time I check my e-mail,
a voice whispering words
no one will ever say to me
as Sleep comes
to pull me away

gently.

And if you are reading this
as you always did, I just hope
you know I miss you so
much more than words
can ever

explain.

This morning someone called me asking to speak with you,
I sighed and explained that you haven't been here in
over a year. They apologized for my loss of such a remarkable soul
and said that they didn't mean to bother me it's just that
they saw you recently. You were looking worse than ever,
unhealthy, unhappy, broken even and they wanted to tell you
that you are still the most beautiful person they have ever known.

Even in your pain. So I'm sure you'll never listen to this message,
but ***, if they were able to find you, please, give them a chance
if you're not already in someone else's arms because it's so rare
to meet someone who can find pure, genuine beauty in a soul
instead of a body. And there was something in their voice,
something so honest, so kind that they are so much more than
someone to hold on to.

Because people who find pure, genuine beauty are among
the rarest in the world.

And you deserve nothing less
than perfection.

Warm colors light my way
as I walk around town
looking for something
to do with my day.

There's not many people out
cause it is beginning to rain
and this street's dangerous
there's people outside looking in.

I don't know how they
can see us or what they think
they see anyway, but
their eyes keep accosting us.

Some of wonder and delight
others cold and dark as night,
there's chatter coming through
the frame like an open window too.

warm colors light my way
as I scratch my head and
think of something good to say,
who are these people?

Why do some laugh, like they
want to take my place while
others cry as if seeing this way
reminds them of their own pain?

There's nothing wrong. At least nothing I know of.
The tears just don't like my eyes. And my mind
is tired of developing blurry pictures -
its such a waste of energy.

My shadow sits against the wall wondering when
I'll hand her off to a decent conversationalist,
even though walls will never talk and floor boards
just complain. I know it's all fun and games to you,
to them, to everyone else, but my mind just can't
pick up on that - just can't grasp why something
so cruel could ever be so funny. There's a person
stuck in the mirror staring back at me,
they say it gets better, but they've got the devil's
famous grin buried beneath countless layers of
make up and lies.

That stupid voice in my head, the one deeper than my own,
the one everyone knows to ignore - everyone that is but me,
reminds me just how tiny i am in this great big world. It's like
my mind doesn't know when to stop, the pain brings more pleasure
than the strangers calling me pretty as they offer to
buy me some fruity drink down the block (I love the look
on their faces when I end downing **** stronger than their own.)
there's nothing wrong. At least nothing I know of.

I just woke up today and realized that i'm not who I thought I was.

That I'm not who you think I am.

I am just another
impostor
in your bed.

The world shattered and the sky fell
as I was walking away, begging you
to follow me. To give some sort of
meaning to a lost girl I become.
But you didn't. I got out of sight
and far beyond ear shot, waiting for
the moment you would realize how much
we needed each other. You never came

I waited through the world's first
and second ends. I stood tall in the face
of Fear and after the silence I broke down
and watched myself lose pieces with
every step I took. The world shattered
and the sky fell as I learned that even I
don't want to be my friend which is why
I'm here, in the shadows, standing in line,
waiting to audition for loneliness.

"You always were my little dreamer,
my beautiful cloud dancer,
pirouetting from heart to heart rarely
if ever revisiting the ones you leave behind,"
you smiled as you pulled me just a
little closer and put your hand
over my heart.

"You found the key to my heart early on
and I wanted nothing more than to
welcome you to my life. Only you were too
innocent, too broken to be asked that then.

There was a darkened stranger in your soul
killing you a little more with each day.
And you gave me the key to your heart
in turn. ***, I couldn't stick around,
tempting you with honest promises
too far out of reach for such a sweet girl.

So I ran to my hiding place
until you were able to smile again. I had
no idea that it would hurt you so much,
I only ever wanted the best for you.
Oh, ***, thank you for forgiving my
for being so unable to see that you were
only ever truly happy right here
next to me."

Strawberry, you've been calling me Poetry
for years now, I thought nothing of it when
I stumbled across this new potential home,
but baby this use starting to **** me.

I hope you're well and I hope to see you soon.

I hate how you sit out on the dock in the late afternoon sun
with your canvass and paints. Stretching me and pulling me
for nothing but the pleasure of your latest muse. I hate
that you get to talk to the strangers fishing down the way
and the only people I have are the wooden planks you push me into.
And believe me they are horrible conversationalists.

You run after butterflies to match your paint to their wings
and softhearted blades of grass try to dry my tears. Darling,
I love you, I hate you, I love you but i don't love you anymore.
You get to live your life and manipulate me however you wish.

Only next time we play this little game of ours
you'll be my shadow
and I'll be your
master

When tea time has been reduced to nothing,
but a phase and scones aren't even
a conversation piece anymore, when the kettle
has been robbed of its violet hues in place of
rust, when the last guest to pass through
the door was your brother, three years ago

will you finally miss me or any
of the moments we shared?

And when Loneliness falls for Sorrow
will you be reminded of our final
cups of tea or the fact our final words
were not of finality or even giddy irony
at all, but instead talk of who would
sweep away the crumbs and wash
the dishes once fire and ice had

stolen the once currently
sitting on the table top.

When tea time has been reduced to nothing,
what will these breadcrumbs bring you?

I always love when days get
so long and tragically dark that
we believe we can see the stars.

It's moments in life like that that we have to thank
for our growth. I find it inspiring that emptiness and fear
are brave enough to offer us a chance to question
and test our faith - I know what you're about to say
and yes, I am writing this at 2 a.m. while doing that exact
thing (questioning. Testing). But what kind of artist would I
be if I banished my starside rants from these hallowed pages
of clarity and what would I gain from my poetic

therapy sessions if I didn't at least try to make
something more stunning than roses or moons
from my pain? So allow me, if you will, to return
to my point. Because as people - nothing more than
the atoms that form the elements of our societies,

we crave friction and contact, balance and gentleness.
We must be reminded that others out there have felt
what we are feeling when we feel it. We must know
that never in any second of time will we ever be
truly alone. I have noticed something fascinating
in the way humans manage to be stars (fueled
and passionate) and snowflakes (frigid and stoic)
all at once - without ever so much as batting an eyelash

and no matter how horrible we feel or how dark
the sky gets we will Always remain more radiant
than the sun and more complex than any universe.

And it's always thoughts like this
that get me through the days
when I forget how to breathe.

There's mascara running down the folds of my faded pillow
and it's not that anything is even that wrong. Please,
don't think that I'm one of those attention seeker types,
because that's not it at all - I swear. Or is this one of those
moments where "thou doth protest too much" makes perfect sense?

I remember nibbling on your shoulder, starving for your attention
and now I wonder if you've ever needed anything from me
with enough fervor and ferocity to actually beg for it (me). I wonder
if the single drops that quenched my parched lips so effortlessly
when you weren't around have ever been enough for you.

And I know it's sad to say this since I fought you every time you tried
but I miss the potential of having a light something to eat or drink
while indulging in a conversation more hearty than I could ever be.
The fact that there are no guests knocking on the door at three
in the afternoon or even at three o' five breaks my heart.

So here I am, alone, waiting for the violet kettle to whistle
with a tray full of cobalt speckled blueberry scones and airy white,
sweet cream to balance out the **** of fruit picked too early -
or maybe it's only there to subdue the pain of opinions varied from your own.
Either way, it is enticing and I wish it could do its job more properly.

Slowly, I'll stir the milk and two sugars into the dark mixture
watching the shapes play leap frog in awkward motion,
humming along with the delicate, lacey clink of the metal spoon
chiming against the porcelain cup. It's just not the same
now that I know that not everyone has to make do with

breadcrumbs.

I need you
to know that you
are a spider just
sitting in your web,

waiting for some
unfortunate soul
to join you; to be
intrigued, to
submit itself
to your
chaos

merely for your entertainment.

I need you
to know that you
are a spider and
I am a fly,
but someday
our roles will
be revised.

I hope you enjoyed feasting
on my heart and any
fragments of my soul
you were able to grasp
because the day
I manage to get
the first taste
of you

will be the sweetest
I've ever known
alongside the
most glorious
revenge
possible.

I.
...I often wish someone would
love me enough to make me melt
from the inside out. No, I'm not suicidal
I just want the bliss and joy of being in love.
But who would be stupid enough
to love someone they
can't touch?

II.
...There are many days when
I don't want to get up or to get out
of the house. Not because I'm scared
or anything - I just feel too pretty for all
the chaos and hate in this
disgusting place.

III.
...I like to believe I am
a teddy bear - a child's favorite toy.
Every night I help someone fall asleep
and there's always someone out there
pouring their whole heart out to me.
I pretend that I'm soft like
my heart and that I can be
loved just as much as I love
those around me.

IV.
...There are more times than
I care to count when all I wanted was
to be the reason for your smile. I make
children jump for joy when school is canceled
because of me and the elderly are envious of my beauty -
but you, you're different. I hate the sun for
making you happier than I can.

We were young, you pressed flowers while I
attempted poetry. It was a long time ago, almost
like another life I never lived. You looked at me
with the devil's eyes and said, "You can be
the angel kissin' on a sinner and I'll be the boy
on the porch steps drawing the map that'll get us
out of here someday."

"It'll be harmless fun," you smiled, but you didn't know
what fun is back then. You were the angel kissin' on me.
I guess that makes me the sinner, I was hardly in high school
and already tainted by lust, painted black, and splattered
with red. But I didn't tell you because I knew what you'd say.

We were young, you pressed flowers while I
attempted poetry. Hiding in a red leather diary.
If only you could see now the secrets that pages made
of stardust could keep when a person's young but not free.
I remember the way you used stones to write my name
on the beach and hope to etch my face in the snow.

That was when being in love was easy - all you had to do
was smile and say the words everyone else was saying.
when kissing was cute and running away together was sweet.
It was a simple time, long ago, when you saw my wings
as silk and made me a halo of daisies. We were young,
you pressed flowers while I wrote you poetry.

We were young, you pressed flowers while I
wrote you poetry. Line after line of pure emotion you
would never understand. Words you were too innocent
to comprehend, meanings I was just barely corrupt enough
to pen out for the world. You pressed flowers that waited
between pages of stardust for years that later became
decorations for the cover of my novel. The one I dedicated
to you for never being a first, but for loving me enough to
stick around anyway.

Do the dead love?

Is the last kiss
of delight really so
cold to blind,
leave, then save
us all over again.

Do the dead love?

Writing all their secrets down
as tombstones crumble
on top of them yet again.

Darling, do tell me,

do the dead love?

"Your poetry is lonely," he said,
"Yet you write to feel less alone."

"I know," I answered the way wind answers
a hot afternoon jogger on the highway's edge.
There was a silence, the only noises were
the keys of his old typewriter

click clacking away at themselves,
"I'm sorry," I sobbed. He got up
and walked to the door, put his hand
on the doorknob, opened his heart

and faced me once more,
"It wasn't meant to hurt you, Love.
That's the last thing she said to me
and life is too precious to waste
thinking everyone's out to get you."

With that he left me to my thoughts,
replaying the scene again and again,
maybe I should get a typewriter myself
to write my story just as powerfully
as he wrote his. To be in some young person's
dream, inspiring them the way he does
for me. . .

You hold a pencil in your hand
one ready for soft gray lines
before promising me anything;
though it is also more than capable
of engraving our entire life.

There is a sort of passion
in everything you do;
however it does fade away
sometimes slowly, preventing
mistakes too dark to erase.

As you drag that pencil across
the rough, pulpy paper again
I am coming up with the story to
tell on the same page when
others dare to pretend that they

understand.

Someday your work will be in
all the finest museums covering
ceilings in a million mausoleums
and yet that will not be the end.

Because one day they will know
your name the way I do.
I just hope that you remember
I loved you before you were cool;
you are my brightest star
and I would do anything for you.

When you finish this page
let me see it before moving on
I think I can inspire the next one
with lines showing the depth of you
and the contrast in me.

Someday we will be your
most famous work of

artistry.

Don't tell a poet what to write,
don't tell an artist what to paint.
Trust me, that just isn't right,
and it doesn't make you a saint.

Just don't do it,
if you care so much
don't keep it a secret,
release with your own touch.

Don't tell a gamer how to play,
don't tell a ghost how to cry.
Trust me they'll have a lot to say,
and they won't even have to try.

You say you love me,
so let me express what I think.
You have to let me be free,
and I love the taste of ink.

Don't tell a girl how to dress,
don't tell a guy how to throw.
It only creates a bigger mess,
and takes you where you don't want to go.

It is the worst idea a person could get,
it's really not at all that smart.
Just give them space and let
them express with their own heart.

This morning I found your note, the one that reads:

"I just want to curl up in some dark place
where no one can ever find me so I can
drown in crystalized sadness and crimson
painted secrets. That way I don't worry anyone
when a stranger walks into the hotel bathroom
to see that scene asking questions I'm not leaving
the answers to. Don't worry, I'll keep my promise
and love you until the ends of time and even after
Death himself dies, but this is just another one of
those things people just have to do. "

I'm not going to lie, that does sound like a good plan right now.

No, I'm not okay
thank you
for asking though.

I hope you are

h a p p y

I'm sorry
I could never
figure out
the words that
made you

s                   e
   m           l
           i

even though
I mastered
the ones that
make you

C
     R
Y

No, I'm not okay
thank you
for asking though.

Even after all this time,
you are still my password,
the face staring back at me
every time I check my e-mail,
a voice whispering words
no one will ever say to me
as Sleep comes
to pull me away

gently.

They tell me you are gone,
that you won't be coming back
it's not like your vacation
across the pond or the summer
you moved back home.

You left clues for me
as you contemplated whether
I was strong enough on my own
or not, I see that now,
words and stories of hope
or encouragement
to hold me up in your
prolonged absence.

But they don't help me
because you were the kind
of person that changes a girl
without even trying.

Even after all this time,
you are still my password,
the face staring back at me
every time I check my e-mail,
a voice whispering words
no one will ever say to me
as Sleep comes
to pull me away

gently.

And if you are reading this
as you always did, I just hope
you know I miss you so
much more than words
can ever

explain.

So, I need to say this and I need someone to listen and I know you come here everyday waiting for another piece of my soul to be poured out onto paper. You are the best listener of all, even though i've never met you and still I can pick your face out of any crowd even if I were blind. I know your voice so well that it's in every single one of my dreams telling me all the things no one else has been brave enough to say. Darling, I need to get something off my chest and I don't feel safe enough leaving these words anywhere else.

My heart belongs to someone. Someone I've never met in person. Someone who writes words darker than ebony and stronger than my coffee. He downs the most potent poisons known to man and listens to the music everyone else ridicules. He's stronger than he'll let on and he has a heart of gold even if he won't admit it. He's an angel and a vampire all at once. theres something about his voice that just cant  be described, it defies all description, it makes even the most painful words beautiful. There's something about his smile that makes even the worst days seem okay. He has this smile that outshines the sun - it's contagious too.

And this person, he is wonderful. He lets me fall asleep on the phone with him so he knows I'm okay. So if I have my nightmares he is close by. He looks out for me when I have to deal with idiots and *******. He offers to take my pain away from me when im sick. This person, they don't like words that are cliche and overused. Especially those three that are like watered down coca-cola. the words everyone wants to hear, the ones said to quickly, the ones that are so completely meaninglessly meaningful. And yet when he does say words like that, he means them, wholeheartedly, without any doubts at all.

My heart belongs to a stranger who's not really a stranger and honestly, I wouldn't rather anything else, because something about the way he smiles, reminds me he feels something similar.

warm colors light my way
as I walk around town
looking for something
to do with my day.

There's not many people out
cause it is beginning to rain
and this street's dangerous
there's people outside looking in.

I don't know how they
can see us or what they think
they see anyway, but
their eyes keep accosting us.

Some of wonder and delight
others cold and dark as night,
there's chatter coming through
the frame like an open window too.

warm colors light my way
as I scratch my head and
think of something good to say,
who are these people?

Why do some laugh, like they
want to take my place while
others cry as if seeing this way
reminds them of their own pain?

Look closer, what do you see?
A little girl laying on the floor
flooding herself in tears,
glancing cautiously at the door.

Does she have red on her arm?
Is it in a dash or streak?
Is it like the broken heart and
blackened soul at which you peek?"

That's what was whispered into
my ear one cold, damp winter's night,
though who whispered I do not know,
but it put me in such fright.

There was a house before me,
I watched through the window,
at the poor girl that had nothing,
not even a faint, friendly shadow.

All of a sudden the room
was caught in a crimson blaze,
garnished by golden tassels
and smoke making my sight haze.

The girl did not move,
in fact, she looked dead.
So being a good, kind man
ran into help instead of fled.

I went to pick her up and take
her away from this awful place,
when a man came in with a frown
and scars across his reddened face.

"Drop her!" He commanded,
"No!" I hollered with fear
wavering in my soft voice.
The girl had one final tear.

As the other man spoke,
it rolled down my scrawny hand
I knew right then that
Death had taken her to his land.

She had tasted the bitterness
of Death's enticing kiss,
how could it be though,
she was too young to end like this.

"Why won't you listen?"
The man called through the flames.
I swallowed hard, "She's gone,
I wonder who gets all the blames."

Just then a shot rang out,
a bullet raced toward the dad
and just barely missed.
somehow though he wasn't mad.

The fire still raged about
and we still yelled and fought.
The more passion I showed,
the more the fire got hot.

so I took the girl and ran,
I ran until I could run no more.
Her father chased after,
but didn't make it out the door.

"Thank you sir,"
The whisper cried again,
"I owe you my life,
though this is my end."

"Oh no dear,
You owe none.
That man was wrong
now his life is done.

I'm glad you are free,
but does that really mean
you have to leave, for good?"
crying as if on the silver screen.

"I have no where to go,
no one to stay with,
no more love or care.
Though death is a myth.

But yes, I must leave,"
She cried more than I.
I said, "I'll love you,
just don't say goodbye."

With this she took my hand
stood for the first time,
wrapped her tiny arms around me,
"If you think it'd be fine."

I pointed down at the town,
showed her my tiny home,
took her in as mine and
told her she'd never be alone.

The next day, we woke
to birds singing, sun
shining, and a friend,
now knowing to have fun.

Well, I left my boyfriend,
back home, this is what happened,
in his very own words.
"One day, my girl got up and left,
she went father away then before.
Hopped on a rocket and off to the moon,
all that's left is her pink dress
and that necklace of glitter,
from the first time we kissed.
I want her to come back home,
I need her more than she'll know,
I miss her all too much.
All I have is her pink dress
and that necklace of glitter,
from the first time we kissed.
I miss her with everything I have,
I love her with all my heart.
Why did she go to the moon?
When will she be back in my arms, again?
She called me through mission control,
and told me she wouldn't be back.
She found a new home.
She said she'll miss me,
and I'll miss her too.
All I have left is a pink dress
and a necklace of glitter,
from the first time we kissed.
Pink and glitter is all I have,
pink and glitter in my hands,
pink and glitter everything I am.

I just saw a bird, royal blue and pretty,
he's new to life; yet the old women that holds him,
keeps him in a cage of blackened steak.
He is so beautiful, I can't wait
to see him soaring through the blue, blue sky.

But the old lady has a cruel, cruel heart,
she won't ever let him go.
I have got to save him, but how?
He sings a song, every time I see him,
I love him and must set him free.

At the moment he only brings joy to me,
but one day I will set him free,
and he will soar so far away,
only coming home to thank me and bud farewell,
then running off to have fun.

I love him, but the old lady has
changed his cage,
now its blackened gold.
How can she be so cold,
with the most beautiful creature on Earth in her hand.

He needs to break free,
he needs to fly away,
he needs to know he is loved,
he needs to see what he can really do,
she needs to let him go!

Mrs. I think you should set him free,
he needs to spread his wings and fly.
You are cruel and evil.
why do you hold him so tight?
Mrs. you have to let him go.

If you don't I will
one day, when you least expect it,
and you won't stop me,
he is not yours
he's not even mine.

Set him free!
Mrs. you need to let him be,
on his own,
so open the cage and back away,
or I swear I will one day.

Pretty girl, pretty girl,
what's wrong now?
Pretty girl, pretty girl,
you're broken but how?

Is that your blackened heart,
spread out on the barren ground?
Who is to blame,
and why haven't the pieces been found?

Pretty girl, pretty girl,
dry your eyes.
Pretty girl, pretty girl,
all men tell lies.

You can't go on like this,
we all feel this way sometime.
It's just a lesson learned,
guys like him are only slime.

Pretty girl, pretty girl,
are you okay?
Pretty girl, pretty girl,
won't you come out to play?

They aren't all like him,
there's one who won't let you cry,
He'll love you for real,
but you won't find him if you die.

Pretty girl, pretty girl,
please just smile.
Pretty girl, pretty girl,
pain only lasts a while.

Stand up, come with me,
love is something you believe.
Open your eyes and look around,
not everyone is waiting to deceive.

Pretty girl, pretty girl,
why won't you look at me?
Pretty girl, pretty girl,
what don't you want to see?

It's sad but true,
love is almost never fair.
Though one day,
you'll find someone to care.

Pretty girl, pretty girl,
let's get this heart fixed.
Pretty girl, pretty girl,
I know emotions are mixed.
He hurt you real bad,
to you all he did was wrong.
Girl, he lost a gem,
stop singing that sad song!

Pretty girl, pretty girl,
do you really want your life to end?
Pretty girl, pretty girl,
why don't you let your heart mend?

You will get better,
this is a fact I know.
Smile, have some fun,
your pain will end as will his show.

Pretty girl, pretty girl,
all he is, is mean.
Pretty girl, pretty girl,
go to sleep an dream.