This is my story.
Do not assume that you
Are the hero, even though

I dedicated a lot of

Lengthy chapters to you.

You are just a
Leaf passing through,
Leaving a slight impression

On a few pages and

A pop of colour among

Some black and white words.

You are a spot of blue ink

Left in the corner, as I wrote

Quickly and passionately

On white blank pages.

You are the muse I loved

Enough to write into my story
And spend time nurturing,
Creating something beautiful
However long it may have lasted.

But do not forget,
Even for a second that

This is my story.

However incomplete or

nonsensical it may seem.
However narcissistic I may sound.
How many ever hours

I spent crafting it.

Rough

Draft

Over

Rough

Draft.
**
This is my story.

"You are my friend.
Please do me a favor.
Give Bobby this phone number.
Don't tell him I told you to.
Maybe he'll call before Dr. Mendrokis and his wife get home.
The children are sleeping in their beds.
I don't really care for being alone.
Tell Bobby to call me on the Doctor's phone."

Jill tries to study but it's quiet tonight.
The telephone rings to her delight.
It must be Bobby.

"Hello"

There is a silence, but she can tell someone is on the line.

"Bobby?"

Nobody answers so she hangs up the phone.
Jill Johnson doesn't like
To be alone.

The clock ticks on.
She hears a racket in the kitchen.
It's the ice-maker in the freezer.
She takes a fudgesicle out of the pack,
As she wonders if Bobby will try to call back.

The phone rings.
Jill says,"Hello, Bobby? What do you know?"

"Have you checked the children?"

Jill hangs up the phone.

At the weather, Jill fixes a drink.
They won't notice a little missing brandy, she thinks.
That call was scary.
His voice was dark.
Maybe it was Bobby
Who was just pretending.
Maybe she doesn't like him much, anyway.
He's kind of a ****.

The phone rings again.

"Have you checked the children?"

"This isn't funny, Bobby. Don't call back, anymore."

"Why haven't you checked the children?"

Jill slams down the receiver in a panic.
She dials the police on the rotary as fast as she can.
She's terrified and alone.

The policeman tells her,
If the man calls back,
The call will be traced
If she keeps him on the line.

She sits on the stool by the stairs.
She silently waits.
She's scared.

The phone rings.

"H-Hello..."

"It's me."

"I know."

"Why haven't you checked the children?"

"You, You can see me?"

"Yes."

"I turned the lights down.
I''ll turn them back up if you'd like."

"No."

"You really scared me before,
If that's what you wanted.
Is that what you wanted?"

"No."

"What did you want?"

"Your blood...all over me."

Jill hangs up the the phone,
It rings again.
She answers the phone and screams,
"Leave me alone!"

The policeman then says,
"Your life is in danger.
Soon, police will be there.
Get out of the house...
The call is coming from upstairs!"

It starts with the shock.
The disbelief, the sudden pain of what you've lost.
Lives, like matches, will burn out.
But the time and place that may occur, that's what worries me most.

Every word, every action could be the last. Nothing lasts.
Some things, the things that make you choke and cry and wish them false, are too hard to ask.

Each dew on the grass is a fatal item, every bird that sings
and every human on the earth.
No one deserves to go.
No one deserves to go.

It started with shock,
And it ended with a truth.
I, along with everyone else, am vital.
I am true.
And though his matchstick has now burnt out,
He was too.

I am a *******
Only it doesn't show on my arm or my wrist
I am an abuser of the heart, the soul.
No other words can describe it - I enjoy the pain of heartbreak.
Do I feel a rush every time you forget about me? Do I go on a high when you put me down? Do I crave the silence, the awkward looks, the indifference?
YES!
Is this pain the only thing my heart will ever witness?
YES!!
You are the pain giver; you cause these wounds
But if I'm a *******, I should be grateful to you.

We all believe in something great that we will witness,
In this sea of hopeful people, everybody's got the sickness.

I'm not the only one who wants a way out; we all want to be free.
There's no cure this far down, we've got the dreamer's disease .

If love is a temptation, i am a sinner
If love is a habit, i am an addict
If love is a weight, tie me onto it,
If love is a burden, i want to embrace it.
If love is something i can touch and feel
If love is something i know is real,
i want to hold it close to me for longer than life.
If love is a question, my answer is yes
if love wasn’t here, i wouldn’t be, so i guess
that If love is a lie, i am not alive.
If love is what everyone dreams of, but most fall short
i want to love love that is definitely worth
the pain and the sadness, because love is a virus.
but If love was a sickness, and If i was offered a cure
i would refuse, and come back for more.

timid breath of winter
shy and silent
sigh, gasp and shout
the cold at its peak
slowly comes the winter,
slowly comes the grief
as sadness fills the valley
when words are brief

Like a child's first steps, I begin to trust, rely and give in.
Later on there will be hard times; I will fall on the ground.
I'll become vulnerable and childlike,
and need the assurance of a helping hand.
We need those first steps,
while it's exciting and new,
before we are jaded and unwilling
And we sit down.