Our memories are the last little remnants of a garden
Morsels once dedicated to our time together
Now just a place to rest in peace
I remember when plants flourished under the fluorescent moon
And we waltzed past mums and lilies
Interlacing our fingers with promises meant to be unbroken except
People end up changing just like the seasons
And now solemn figures dance through
Laying down teddy bears and picture frames on top of snow
Reminiscing with loved ones through weeping and tears
So I fought back my fears
And drowned out all my feelings
Forgetting the winter night terrors
Every bottle of whiskey a sweet reminder of your words milked with honey
Just like you used to call me
The golden warmth sent me back to summer
While sitting under the sun
Digging dirt under our fingernails just for fun
Becoming a slave to a place called
Security
A place bursting with hues of green
Where birds hummed peacefully
Roses and tulips stood softly
And boy
Were we whipped to a place with such purity
Where we could get away with anything
But a heist robbed us of our safety
Slipped us from our sanity
Stole our color, our music, our peace
Left us with nothing but weeds
Little patches of dandelions called
Our memories

To feel disconnected; a petal in mid-fall past it's stem. It lays on the ground once walked all over, its footprints swiftly blown away by the wind. The rain trickles down, washes over the phantom mounds, and hopes for at least one destination that hasn't already been found. The thunder cracks, the lightning strikes, and the trees tremble at the sounds. They don't even remember how terrifying it felt to be sun dried, decaying beneath the rays of hot wrath. But the next day, a rainbow appears and a new hope arises when the sky turns baby blue. Excited new flowers bloom, but a few weeks later, the petals of those begin to wilt too.

I went two months
Now almost three
But last night I heard your laugh
And now it's really hurting me
Made me think about
What you heard before
The loud ring that echoed
Between your fingertips
And your dreams
And I wonder if that's why
I have trouble seeing
Why things are showing up
In sets of twos and threes
And all are shapeless bodies
Doing rain dances
That make me cry senseless
And I'm pushed outside
Without a raincoat
Standing with a wait list
Waiting on explanations
That only come in a form of a
Suicide note on a stick-it
Written between the lines of ink
Are the only pieces of you
That I have left
But I cant keep it because
The cops want it for evidence
To prove that you were too ******
Just like the rest
And it makes me sad to say
But we had so much in common
And now you're gone
You're flying high today
Makes me think how I shouldn't
Have let you borrow
That stick-it note
That I was supposed to use
One day

Turn down the temperature because I'm feeling a bit feverish without your cold stare stalking down my skin. I got used to the depressing weather, the knitted sweaters, the legs warmers that kept myself together. Glowers felt like blizzards and I felt mad all the same. You crept through my dreams with your delicate face, your wind chapped lips smirked at my every mistake. God once sent me a vision of us heads back, hands clasped, looking as if we'd shared the most fondest memory, but a hand washed over the vision and said I needed to be taught a lesson. With every passing moment, you became increasingly more distant. Soon enough spring came and I saw the difference in the way you looked at me. I turned green at the thought and thought that maybe I had just been hallucinating, but the drugs had come cheap and you no longer loved me. This time God didn't send me a vision or tell me a story and I began to wonder if this whole lesson had just been a  misunderstanding.

Once in a small pink diary, a girl doodled pictures and wrote words that had order and sense. Her mother loved her very much and she had many friends. She wrote about all the things they did and her dad took her to the ball park to play catch.

Once on a school research paper, she wrote about innocence and how it could be broken by other peoples' absence and her thoughts were scattered and her mother gave her concerned looks and her friends began to ignore her. That was the year she lost her glove and her dad starting drinking again.

Once on an index card, she wrote a bible verse and on the back she asked "why" as if god might answer her question and her mother screamed at her for smoking and her friends hated the smell of anything menthol so they stuck up their noses and left. That was the month she quit playing sports and her dad got sent to jail for driving while intoxicated.

Once on her wrists, she wrote a novel about how the only way was up and she wrote it in red ink and her mother was banging on the bathroom door and her friends were out somewhere buying beer. That was the day her father got bailed out of jail and found her in the bathtub with the water still on.

Once on a grave stone, two specific dates were written with a phrase from her favorite book and her mother cried and her friends wiped away her tears. That was the moment her father got sober only to have a reason to start drinking again and hurting all over.

When you leave a dark place, you don't realize what it was that you had left. But when you come back a month later you realize how it was all ****. Your car got wrecked and your dad lost his job again. Your mom's stressin' over finances so she starts poppin' her pills early in the mornin'. Your house becomes foreclosed and now you're living with your aunt wearing clothes too tight because you eat when you're upset. Your cigarettes give you fresh menthol breath because you lost your toothbrush during your last panic attack and now you're sitting next to your alcoholic dad in a ******* rehab. **** gets dark when you come back from the light and **** gets dark even when it's not at night.

Young and innocent, she was soon turned toward all the violence.
Everything she loved turned to stone cold resentment.
All of her built up pain finally hushed her to silence.
Everyone around her was happy but she was just reporting for practice.
Too bad she wouldn't make it to the tournament.
She's breaking herself until her fragile body is ready to drown.
There's tears falling from her eyes, creating a waterfall of her every last ounce.
She's humiliated now with nothing but things to bring her down.
She's ready to let herself go.
She grabs a sharp knife and hopes that it will give her some type of high.
With each cut, the blade slices into her soul.
There's nothing left but her soon-to-be ghoul.
Her friends that ignore her make her job a bit easier.
Thank god no one important ever cared about her.
She goes home and writes that **** note.
There's a lot of scribbles and a lot of what-ifs, but she finally decides that she needs to get on with it.
She goes to her favorite place; the one with the cliff.
She goes to the edge and suddenly becomes weightless.
About two-thirds of the way down she decides that she was being ridiculous.
Too bad she didn't realize it before she thought she found her new bliss.