Your eyelashes hold the tears
of a thousand men and womens sorrows,
you speak to the dead
and yet, and yet
you scream happiness.
you bite your tongue in the arch
of every conversation
afraid of twisting words through your teeth,
It's sunny outside baby,
wipe the dust off the window
with your green sweater,
green was never your colour
leave your house
breathe in freedom
and exhale the voices of the dead,
let them go home, baby,
stop holding on
Kiss me without the taste of dust
on your lips,
break the frozen grass with your bare feet,
Exhale the dead, baby.

Prince Charming will come for you one day,
my sweetheart, but you musn't go out looking,
because, my child, because there are wolves,
big, big, bad wolves -
The horrible mean men, choose wisely-
One day, you'll see.

I pray the best for you, my pretty one,
Your golden hair will get you far-
And I promise we'll meet again under the sun
Your smile will fill my heart,
until the day I die, my dear,
without it I will not be complete.

Now, don't cry with these words.
For you should know I love you,
I shouldn't leave but I cannot bare it
I'm torn by these decisions
But I cannot give to you
what you need-
you'll understand this
when you're older too.

Enjoy the life I have given you, pretty one,
when this war is over, I'll find you,
and we'll meet again under the sun.*

*Apparently, I was barely three weeks old
when she left, and daddy was a lost cause they said-
told me he went to war, came back a nut case.
No one knows why Mumma wrote about
leaving me during the war, it was already over.
Maybe cause daddy was mental,
and she was poor,
myabe she couldn't cope.
I don't know.

I'm twelve now,
my adopted parents aren't too great,
sometimes, I think a brick wall is more capable
But I love 'em,
I love 'em more than my real folks, hey.

I like to think that on the hottest summer day's
Mumma will meet me, just like she promised
but without a photograph or nuthin'
I doubt she'd ever find me.
My hair ain't even golden anymore,
My new Ma and Pa
says it starting going dark at age three.

I don't remember much of my childhood,
my real childhood atleast,
the one I was supposed to have with Mumma.
All I have is a fading hand written note.

I've always been unsure of you,
never knowing whether  
you're a psycopath or if you just
care too much about people
who don't deserve to be loved,
people like me, who
just take and take and take,
who abuse every one for their stupidity
and poeple like me who never love.
You've always been to clingy
asking how I am
too many times in the short span
of one day, if I could really be bothered
to count, I'd say you'd say hello
at least 10 times before midday.
And it's scary.
Don't get me wrong,
admiration is cute,
but it transforms into stalking
very, very quickly.

Let them know you're here-
Create white noise with your voice,
Their ears bleed silence.

But what is a soldier without his gun?
A brave little boy, playing makebelieve
in his room with a plastic G.I Joe doll,
his camouflage inaccurate and too yellow.
Plastic sand bag barriers scattering the floor
this boy has never learnt a thing of the war.
leaving it all up to imagination
he takes the tiny plastic radio
and calls in, "Mission complete -
Commander, we're comming home.
Over and out".
Creating a fake static noise with his mouth
which takes us to a new scene.
Accurate camouflage colours this time,
the australian flag on his shoulder,
but that little boy from his room
is now wearing them as a man.
A soldier he has become
with destruction all around him,
he was flown to Vietnam.
A high-tech radio for real this time,
"Man down! Man down!"
One of his unit fell heavy in the mud.
303. slung over our little-boy-from-his-room's shoulder
he drags the wounded behind trees and shrubs
an act of valour.
Though, our little boy did not know,
that he'd be wounded too
and comming home tomorrow.

Yes,

       They

T-to-took

                 Her-

S-s-s-*******

                       All

Be-b-b-beauty-ty

                            From

H-h...h­er

                                     *Wrists