****!

mandolins seem to screech out a tune like the cries of those who loved you;
if not for us, for you, please thrive in a meadow verdant with joy.
the rickety stairs of my old home, approximately thirteen steps, creak,
reminding me of how your back must of wept and your soul must have cried from the weight heavy on your shoulders.

Kenzie, oh Kenzie,

why?

soar like a phoenix, reborn, where you are now free;
inhale the air much like the questionable smoke you breathed in here,
and appreciate where you are, high with the sensation of relief and not chagrin.

Kenzie, oh Kenzie,

i miss you already.

you lifted me so that i could touch the sky, remember?
on the ninth month nigh the end of the first day,
you let me discover myself.
were your shoulders heavy with the weight of loathing,
or sadness, then? i wonder.

Kenzie, oh Kenzie.

at the time where the clock strikes,
the hourglass runs out of sand,
at the time where my time in this realm is over,
come to me in the afterlife with a tad of Mary Jane?
i would bring the light, of course.

let us absorb artificial calm together,
engulfed in a beautiful oblivion,
like you promised we would.

Kenzie, oh Kenzie,

cry away the tears that have drowned you.

you are free now, dear girl,
let me light you a crimson candle to help guide you to safety.
you will be missed, treasured forevermore,
but i always did think that your beauty surpassed that of the living.

Kenzie, oh Kenzie,

goodbye.

when you were used to loneliness,
he was right behind you,
a winged man who caught you.

my poetic brilliance is nothing to boast about;
it is a curse
because the best poets
write with blood, sweat, and tears.

i hope to grow old,
someday,
and be ridiculed for my distasteful,
unwise poetry;
i won't need praise to fill a void in my heart that is meant to be youthful,
i shan't be fruitless and tired;
i will finally be happy.

the extraordinary sensation
of my heart beating far too quickly to be comfortable in my idle body
is a pain that even i, a poet,
may find a hard time describing.
think of it as your body hosting the end of the world.

i'm tired;
the creaking of the wooden stairs of my old bungalow home
reminds me of how my back weeps
when it is reminded of the heavy weight on my shoulders.
i'm tired;
the melancholic music that plays
as i try to force myself to sleep
reminds me of my lonesome circumstances,
and i can't help but wonder what it would feel like
to sleep forever?
one try;
i'm tired;
goodnight, forevermore.

Well, it was fun while it lasted
but deep down, in my soul,
I knew it wouldn't last.

Your moral compass
was never the same
as my own,
your excuses rusty and
ever so transparent.

Thanks for the experience, though,
for the knowledge I now have,
and may you continue your life
peacefully.

I finally sent him a letter
tied to the leg
of the same little blue bird
that had told me many things.

I didn't know what he would do
at the time,
but he responded with such enthusiasm,
it was almost too much.

And so we went out
and talked over drinks,
and then he kissed me
after forgetting my name.