Familiar wounds oppressed omitted timbre,
Sallow contingencies imprisoned profaned emerald,
Indisposed intuition bares impassive fondness,
And the young girl ceases to exist inside.

Cycling, circling, cycling again,
Worries and rock bottom strike to begin,
All Better when you’re younger, all better when you’re wrong -
Lonesome doesn’t seem selfish, lonesome doesn’t seem strong,
Repeated breaks, constant personality shakes.
Shattered escapes cause by distaste,
Paused lives lost all given space,
Pulsing heart beats rhythm of a silent chase.
Cursing the fear of relevance to be a mistake,
Declining nature leads to self-obsessed manner,
Omission comes to be the only truth,
Remembrance abscond to indulgence of sleuth.
Ascetic consumed of openly, closed wounds -
Buried insecurities heightened by demise and obsolescence.
Hustled skeletons ***** optimism of essence of guise,
Crippled tones slurred with no such intention.
Shame reached dissipation, mere fable not to mention,
Routines never so troubling through desire,
Bottomless glasses hold the sense to aspire,
Pupils vanished with freight sent to grips,
Circling, circling, circling a continuum more.

Feelings deep, never complete
Crooked hearts, fallen thoughts
Lonesome girl, wrongful scars
Vindicated lips, ripped to the sewn
Fearing all that's let on it's own
Contradictive misconceptions
Shadows crept within perception
Lost between fingertips
Weakness then comes to grips
Hope leaks from the tell
Past that fell, begins to dwell
Freckled smiles, such a misstatement
Disappointment reaches eyes
Dreary sorrow, spite along the beloved
Nothing pushed; all is shoved
Diverted content, oppression left
Soulless veins are all that's kept

Desired truth, there isn't a use
Broken at the seams, too much to believe
Darling eyes deceiving me
Torn up compassion, no point of lasting
Stolen bodies; empty souls
All lies, hoax’s behold
Weeping willows, dreary fingers through toes
Lonely steps crossed at the known
What is unseen is yet to be told
Shouts of matter, never so pointless
Oh so sought-less
Separate bones, ripped to stone
Alone alliance, two way known
Whisper faith of bleeding nights
Open hopeless, helpless shown
Nobody is everybody, no new tone
Once said, never forgotten
Cracked dead, fearless so lost
Gone along the way
Fallen down in the death sway

Secrecy, how deep can the loyalty really be kept? In what moment is trust broken? Faces walk around so carelessly speaking stolen words they claim for themselves. All moments are being taken for granted is one may not realize their fighting destination. The meaning of life or death is different to many, where do we all meet? Or do we ever? There’s a very thin line between idolism and jealousy, when vain overpowers, it is then crossed. Love of family seems overrated to those who don’t have much to show for it. Young innocents become ***** at the thought of being helpless. Alone. Alone at last. Alone again. Alone day after day. Alone, hope rests between the eyes of each abandoned soul that walks the unknown house of which they wish was a home. Transforming every morning into something deceitful that burdens the ones who cared. Nights began repetitive notions that confused all that in the way, particularly ones’ self. Footsteps suffocated heavily, each step walked towards the past of the future. Thoughts filled with overwhelming disappointment, self-worth disappeared from confidence found deep within. Insecurities frightened to display beyond closed doors. No one knew the but all had knowledge, released inabilities throbbed from hand hold to hand hold. Embarrassment ponders the insides of beginning relation tolls. Wells ran dry of golden coins that sprung from a stronger meaning only the owner would have known. Skeletons quiver at the caterpillar sprouted from the once apprehensive butterfly **** and trampled on by humiliation. Zen became an escape of dreading weaknesses that were always sought. Sinking and sinking, vindication lost its power. Sinking and sinking, serenity was much further gone. Sinking and sinking, all faith tugged the threads that were already broken. Drowning minds spoke all the same, “please don’t let me fall.”

The blank opportunities arose through the blind eye of me the same and the tempting destruction of the boy beneath me.
10, 20.. 80
Defeat was ordained in the slight smirk of the unappreciated look.
Reds, Blues, Yellows are all the same gray.
Hazy and hazier the virginal rights slip through the taunt suspenders of what is christened pious.
Captivated, I reach the perception of the manless boy who stood with silent mea cuplas and farewells.

The pardoned society took back what was his.

Cut and sold, costed and old,
touch never sweetened,
touch never to bare.
Painted reactions ran fickle of significance,
painted sorrows resented to vain and blank stares.

Proceed, proceed, my dear,
the wrong is never as it seems in an affair;
never black, blue, nor purple.
But proceed to the concealed air,
but proceed to the loss of a prevailing simper.
Purely flee from such unsuspected,
where the finding of such dear had disappeared.

Locked innocence in chains,
Manipulation speechless in the reins,
Grown compassion crashes and burns,
Deceitful visions run alone cold drawn hands,
Soaring promiscuity caught on fire at each turn,
Never spoken, never learned;
Thoughtless boy with cruel intention,
Melted the copper caressed in dwindles affection.

“Perfect,” Karmen replied to herself as if she never laid eyes on such a cowardly man.

But what else was she to feel while the Ethanol streamed down towards her liver as the dusk struck the perfect night. The bench sat perfectly empty with beat up metal and delicate yet fearful drops of God created sorrow. Perfect hazel eyes frantically reached across nameless disasters. Searching to find herself, a young girl. What makes a young girl? Stripped innocence gazes at the stars dead along the disappeared past childhood.

"Bees don't cling to their hives anymore, why? Why aren't the bees scared of losing their survival? Should I not care about dying? I don't. I never will. The strength of infatuation was too strong for me, too strong for me to break away from. He killed me perfectly. Why am I shivering? I feel his perfect arms. I feel his touch, but he is gone. Long gone. The bowling ball missed the pins, it turned the wrong direction and now he's gone. His assuring hands ripped away from my reminisce as the hurricane of my tears wallows from the fear of never being able to be held again," she slurs to herself thinking maybe someone will listen to what she has to say. But no one does, no one’s there.

Sip. Sipping. She poured the empty flask down her throat holding back the burning sensations of love. Love doesn't exist. It's the thought of love that rushes in between her sight. Her blurred sight, that is never quite truthful. Every anger was perfectly misplaced and hazel eyes knew waking up had become overrated. Broken eggshells consistently crack and the ice was now too thin to walk upon. Lust. What was the feeling of peace?

“Perfect,” Karmen repeats the flowing expression over and over hoping it means something more.

Drawn between the next bottle and last bottle shattered, Karmen rests somewhat patiently for her uneasiness to pass. February was coming to its clutches and composure was in the wind.

“My mother, I am not her. I can’t be. I won’t be. Pathetic, perfect pathetic pity. I pity the part of myself that carries her such demeaning qualities. The apple dropped from the aged tree and leaped, but it fell back, fell back with enmity and defeat,” contemplating reasoning to her calamities, Karmen won’t take the blame for herself.

It has now been two years since her mother had passed. Two years since she drank herself to death. A perfect death for an alcoholic. A perfect moment for Karmen to be selfish and make the death about herself. Her mother always needed a miserable man to perfect her endless time. Karmen has recently felt the same need for perfection. It fades. Fades perfectly out of conscious.  

“One more is forever one more, and two more is too many. When is enough, enough? Does being satisfied actually even exist?” the questions drained like a pipeless sink and Karmen was left to sympathize her own decisions.

The suffocating night seemed ceaseless. Where was the closure? Where was the desire to move on? Where was the perfectly naive girl that expected more in happiness? Everything was transformed in that instance. Her witty smile and her hazel eyes, they turned to dust. Dust that held her sense of relevance.  It was all perfectly unsound and no one was there to recognize such defeat. Karmen took her final sip as her veins filled up with cheap fulfilling ***** and she was gone. Long gone. Gone with the bowling ball that steered the wrong direction. She wasn’t going to let the miserable men control her existence, she wasn’t going to be her mother. But oh how the tables have turned and it seems as if the irony killed Karmen herself. With her final perfect sip, she blinked her hazel eyes one last time.

“Cold, cold is the source of all pain and loyalty. It reaches its peak and then it dies along with the soul,” Karmen’s voice whispered as it faded out with her blurred eyesight.

She was her mother. Karmen was the perfect image of her mother. Karmen lived the perfect death of an alcoholic and held the perfect selfishness of one too many sips. She lived the resentment she carried and tore at the seams. Birds only chirp as loud as their highest pitch, and Karmen had simply dealt the only deck of cards she knew how to. The perfect ace that finalized the straight flush of her own savaged childhood.

Day 1
He walks in drowning in his own shame.
He tilts his head down shifting his hair slightly out of place.
He freezes and his eyebrows dance with the melody of his words.

Day 1
She walks in, embarrassed of her ways.
She grasps her hair, trying to sneak it into place.
She breaks and her feet withhold to carry any further.

Day 2
He gazes over his shoulder looking for a faith.
He shades his worries and looks to the ground.
He questions all morals and paces backwards.

Day 2
She whispers hate to herself and lives it.
She touches her hand where it colors of polished purple and blue.
She protects her anger and stashes aside the defeat.

Day 8
He runs from his fear of ignorance.
He struggles to keep composure as he dreams to be ordinary.
He wants himself, he needs himself to be sound.

Day 8
She finds every excuse to dive into the crashing seas.
She jitters in the face of nurture.
She wraps herself in expression of calamity.

Day 11
They disapprove where hearts rest.
They ****** themselves with society etiquette.
They dig further and further into holes of deception.

Day 11
They were never quit on the just track.
They continue the pursuit for justifications.
They surrender their will to hang on any longer, they reach for the final glimpse of light.