My eyes are still wet from where you used to be,
I'm not sure they'll ever be dry.
The only way I think I could accept the fact you're gone,
Is if you come back.
So I beg of you,
In a dream,
Tell me that everything is going to be ok.

Every  Canvas  has a bit of  You
-Always-
My brush is always ready
To  glide
With such  Vivid Details
**You would almost believe its real

To love a man that gives you the moon and all of the constellations,
                      this gift, I did not receive.

Instead, I loved a man who could create skies of jade and violet among any area of his choosing with his own bare hands.

To love a man that gives you a bouquet of twelve burgundy roses,
                     this gift, I did not receive.

Instead, I loved a man who could produce a field of golden pansies atop my right cheek with his own fingertips.

To love a man that gives you a kiss beneath a lantern string of lights,
                     this gift, I did not receive.

Instead, I loved a man who could shoot the most colorful of fireworks and streamers from the booming sound of his own voice.

To love a man that gives you a floral path from the door to a candle-lit room,
            this gift, I did not receive.

Instead, I loved a man who could toss a book through the air and before it struck my skin, it would burst into pink rose petals with a clap from
the same bare hands that painted me jade and violet skies.

Her eyes shone bright
Oh how her smile lit up the night
She ignited your blood
And made your bones shiver

Her kisses intoxicated you
Her touch electrified your skin
She took you places you’ve never been before
You started to believe in love

Then the days grew dark
The nights turned cold
She said, “It was never you.”
“I rather be alone.”

Days passed
Months went by
She was gone
She took your heart with her

Her spirit always ran free
She was nothing but a comet in the sky
She never stayed long
But her presence always stayed by your side

My rusty chains yelp and squawk
Shrill, yet somehow on the verge of becoming monotonous
So far, weary from humdrum-ly swaying
Presently induced alone by Nature’s bitter, raw sighs
Bound to this
Bastille of a rotting exterior
Eventually decrepit, at first, from use
Now merely deteriorating as of neglect

Once-stimulating summers fade
Into seemingly sempiternal November evenings
Dejected and funereal
Echoing the nostalgic meandering trumpets that once coiled
The lengths of my now cadaverous frame—
Their blue blossoms left timid and etiolated
Reflecting the ghostly, lilac hues of an insomniacs raccoon-like eyes
And brittle, wispy veins begin to dilapidate

I yearn
For a sudden rekindling
Reminiscing
About memories only I can keep alive
For the exploiters I was dependent on,
Like the withered azure trumpets used upon a time, have bloomed
Yet I still stoically anticipate their return

I pine for their sun-kissed skin graced in airy cottons
Their thrilled shrieks drowning those of my (less electric) fraying chains
Recollections of their highs juxtaposed with my low
My faith, my only zeal

To the Shooting Star and Back
I wish,
I wish
To the Shooting Star and Back
I close my eyes and make a wish upon a wish
To the Shooting Star and Back
I feel like Tinker Bell,
As the room lightens up magically
like a fairy tale
To the Shooting Star and Back
I know my wish will come true,
For I am a magical fairy who can make anyone's wish come true.