A bleak horizon. No sign of life
Save weak paw prints,
Etched light upon the white
Expanse of silence.
Boreal moon rising belies the violence
That had ensued.
One set of prints where once there were two.
Fallen prince among wolves
Arctic Gods have had their due.
As the wind howled, cried and blew
The hunter stopped and shuddered.
Wondered, about the beast he slew.
The wind cries once more.
The wind or the wolves?
He is no longer so sure.

Twenty years ago today
I met a man at sea
Though I was standing on the dock
Aboard a boat was he
With he on sea
And me on land
I found it hard
To shake his hand
So twenty years ago next week
I stood trial for manslaughter

i watched how he looked at her
how they were together
i saw the love they had for each other
radiating off one another
i looked at the smile smeared upon there faces
they way there hands fit together like puzzle pieces
and i envied her

To the boy who almost bought me flowers... But the store was closed.
Or he forgot,
or he couldn't choose,
because he couldn't remember my favourite flowers,
or he didn't care.

To the boy who almost loved me well.
The boy who almost made me a wife.
The boy who almost loved my flaws, but just couldn't quite grip them.
The boy who I almost lost myself in.
The boy who almost took everything I had, everything I believed.

The boy who almost killed me.

The boy who almost won the lottery,
until he lost his beautiful winning ticket.

To the boy who hurt the girl who cared so much that she almost forgot
to love herself more.
The boy who didn't think she could wake up and realize
that she deserved more than being
"almost" happy.

Sincerely,
The girl who is almost healed,
almost clean,
almost okay,
completely done.

I often need to be reminded of the things I've said and how they contradict the currently carried thoughts in my head. I need to be assured that my worth will be preserved and that i shouldn't believe the things I thought I've heard.

An empty can stands alone on a cluttered shelf,
Its cold and hollow corpse reminds me of myself.
It is the only thing left that still has traces of your lips,
And its surface still holds the caress of your fingertips.

I forgot to remove it: it is part of the decor,
Like the oath that you swore:
"I love you," etched into the frame of my bed,
You forgot to scratch it out when you left, it can still be read.

What is gone is your pictures, I tore them from their frames.
Their glass bare, waiting to be filled by new flames,
But they won't be replaced.
There are fragments of you everywhere; they can't be erased.

Your touch is ingrained in every corner,
The memories are painful to me, the mourner.
Your laugh is absorbed in every wall and ceiling,
While the cracks that you left behind are slowly healing.