one who wished to fly,
     a man of great metaphors
     whom we'll surely miss.
mentor he became,
     taught us many ways of life
     before he took flight.

Kissing you was like breathing air
Simple and natural
Easy and sweet

But I didn't want air
I craved a forest fire
I needed a tornado to rip through me

I wanted bruises and cuts
But I craved you
For you to be the eye of the storm

To be there as air
So when the winds died
I could still breathe

Because though I wanted heat
Fire dies without air
Just like me, without you.

She was broken,
And so were you.
But you forgot,
I was broken, too.

She was who you needed,
And she needed you.
But you forgot,
I needed you, too.

She was there for you,
And you for her.
But you forgot,
I was there first.

She was a friend to you,
As much as you were to her.
But you forgot,
She is my friend too.

Now, all she sees is you;
And you, her.
But you forgot,
I'm watching you, too.

Cigarette butts
in an ashtray
thought bubbles
stinking
and
dead.

and i was
helping him
breathe
while you
were attempting
to drown
him

When I'm wide awake
At 4 AM
My mind still buzzing while my body is shaking
A tear rolls down my pale cheeks
As I clutched and pulled and begged at the sheets
My hands red, raw, with a thousand tiny lacerations
The train of my thoughts not stopping at stations
As my conciousness fades, an attempt to stall,
the inevitable breakdown.

And I fall
And fall.

Oh no,
it was not of the ordinary kind.
It was not the ****** ****,
to leave a puddle in the bath.
It was not reckless, it was not thoughtless.
It was a **** of no other kind.

Oh when I think of it
and when I hear the crows
hovering above in the sound of the bell.
That rusty bell, when the sun is gone,
together with the crows,
on time they all sing,
precise as the ****.

Oh no,
it wasn't a bullet, shot in shake and fear,
it wasn't a sloppy slip, one fast and quick.
It was a **** foresighted and long before known.
It was silent, yet loud and felt.
A type of ******,
when a queen murders a king.

A type of killer she was,
who put poison in the chunk of bread
in the sight of the murdered.
That food was sweeter than life,
when eaten from the fingertips of the sensational murderess.
It was swallowed with joy,
yet known it is poison.

Simple, when looked from far,
venom she whispered and sipped,
from the killer red dry lips,
that ate away the skin.
Not a spot when on the spotlight,
she is a predator of no other kind;
The killer, claws the prey,
with the most gentle of touch.

It was not a moment, a blink of some day,
it was over and over,
every gasp, every second of every day.
It was not a knife to the back,
it was clean and open - wound to the front;
Facing her gaze,
oh, she pierced it right in the heart.
It was the sharpest of blades, over and over again...
As they say,
there are few swords that cut so deep,
as the blade of unrequited love.

As I walk now in the sun's light of noon
and remember the days,
I still feel the warmth of air passing in my open heart;
I still taste the blood of my already fallen skin.
I writhe a little...
Then I softly grin,
from cheekbone to chin -
I think of the time when you murdered me.