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 May 2016 Malin Eriksen
gray rain
Remember this...

You are the reason for countless,
sleepless nights where I lay awake
wondering what light you would bring.

You are the reason I had no imagination,
believing that no one could fill the gaps
and why each day came with a sting.

Unknown to me, who you were going to be.
You sang to me, so sweet! You make my dreams
weep with joy and sadness.

Unknown to me, you were everything
or nothing. Someone to depend on or destroy.
I've torn you down but you stand with me in the mess.

You helped me through everything,
good and bad,  through my darkest moments when
self-harm and suicide didn't seem so bad.

You expected it back in return but when I couldn't
live up, you didn't leave you stayed
because you knew you were the only thing that made me glad.

This is for you, whoever you are,
thanks for being there. I know I don't say it much
but I don't know what I'd do without you.

This is for you,  because I know you are truly
willing to forgive me and I cannot repay that
or even begin to.

Just remember I wrote this for you.
This is my 200th poem on here.
 May 2016 Malin Eriksen
gray rain
.

**if exclamation
marks  put
emphasis
on   the
word or
phrase
before
what

about
inside
it ?
 May 2016 Malin Eriksen
Just Me R
Sorrow is when your angel weeps for your soul.
Because you gave up and became cold
Sara L Russell, 23rd October 2014, 01:01*

She was sunlight and cinnamon;
all wide eyes,
auburn hair, fair complexion
freckles and fleeting laughter.
She was an enigma to her friends,
a golden girl to her parents…

Dappled sunlight turned her into
fragments of an autumn impressionist panting;
all her reds, golds and peach tones
wildly blazing,
vividly flaming in a sunset's haze.

She could make people laugh
with a dry turn of phrase.
She could silence a room just by walking in
through the door.
She could silence cruel words
with a withering look.

She was going to be somebody;
the world was going to know her name,
the future was forever -
until
he caught her, used her,
left her under autumn leaves
in a ditch by the roadside;

and he became somebody
and she became the face
of the girl killed by him.
Hollywood made a thriller about him
and his crime;
and her mother made an album of photos of her;
and the local paper published
her brief obituary.

— The End —