You left Scotland
when you were three.
Even though
it wasn't your choice,
you left behind
most of your family.

When you first husband died
you left the city
for a smaller, sleepier town.
You left his gravesite there.

When your second husband died
decades later,
you left your house in that town--
again, not by choice,
but you left your good health
in that old white house on the cul-de-sac.

And when you died
less than two years later,
you left us behind--
left a hole in our hearts--
you left us to live a life
without you.

But when you died,
you also left memories--
laughs smiles hugs love--
you left an impression on us.

I guess sometimes it's okay to leave
as long as you leave something good
behind.

he used to stroke my hair. we would be lying there veiled from the world and he would stroke my hair. softly and intimately.
looking back, what he was really doing was slowly scratching away something from me. my heart? my dignity? my hope?
innocence was leaking from my pores. naivety gushing from my eyes. releasing a pheromone that only predators can smell.  
he was so soft. so warm. a short one sided love affair with a man with poison on his lips. they tasted like home.

the cracks in the shades
make stripes along my sheets
eternity and death
laying beside me

it's time for them to leave
but their promises
will never vacate
the indentation on my mattress

their breathing, their whispers of truth
that progression is happening
that the world is spinning
that I am dying

spending hours assuming
that their touch will render me
into anything but a funeral
pacing in a skull

when they leave, I
am sure they will never
return. for this figment of my
imagination, has ended me

the distance between us felt further the moment i was in your arms. your words were as empty as the wine bottles on your mantle, your kisses were needles filled with lidocaine.
laying in your bed felt like laying in a coffin. i wasn't really there. you weren't really there, either. the streetlights illuminated these lies we told ourselves in a soft, yellow wash.
i remembered as your breathing slowed that you didn't know my last name. the exposed brick walls taunted me with the whispers of pasts until dawn. the sun rose patiently. you didn't say a word when you walked me to the door.
i've realized love does not exist within the confines of your bedroom. it might not even exist within the confines of your heart.
you told me you were afraid you could never love anyone again. i took that as a challenge like a bird to a glass door. smash, blood, regret.

-
with dark brown eyes,
you searched,
for someone,
for god,
for light.
with deep brown eyes,
you saw me.
in me you found,
cold hallways,
broken tiles,
but never light.

with tired green eyes,
i searched,
for someone,
for warmth,
for you.
with vacant green eyes,
i found nothing.
all i ever wanted,
was nothing.
in you i found,
something.

with boring, sad eyes,
we pondered.
on death,
on love,
on us.

with wide, bright eyes-

we awoke from our own dreams,
in messy sheets far from heaven.
we wept, sea between beds,
feeling dead and forever unpleasant,
from too many words and antidepressants.