I think Death aims to surprise us
It can do so much as erase someone
With a click of a camera or
a bolt of lightning

As we drag ourselves onto grass,
still wet from rainfall last night
We tend to forget that
someone we once knew,
Beating heart and all,
Is buried beneath our very own two feet.

Death does not warn us.
All he does is ****** loved ones from between our fingertips.
No matter how hard we grasp and no matter how tight our fists are clenched,
Death will claw open our hands and force us to let go.

Take note, Death grabbed you from me.
I know Death is inevitable but he needs to understand I was not ready for tears and heartbreak.

I was not ready for the Last Good Day.
The flash of the worn out camera and the constant ringing of our dusty old phone.
There are so much things I could have said to you and your gray locks.
But alas, I did not.

Now, I stand here above your grave;
Red roses in my bare hands.
I tell you how much you mean to me and
how I will never face your smile again.
I cry out I'm sorry for not answering our dusty old phone and for not telling you how much I love you, present tense.
Kneeling on my knees, I beg you to come back so I can feel your warmth spread through my veins one last time.

My voice gets lost in the wind, I realize.
So I set down the roses we picked for you
And commend Death on how easy it was to take everything and leave me with nothing.

one day
when the sunlight
stops playing hide and seek
with the clouds

i will set down my worn out pen
and stop scribbling about you
the tears streaming down my cheeks
will not be for your benefit

someday
as the trees
shed their leaves
the color of the summer sunset

my pen's ink will have dried up
and my sappy poems brown at the edges
i have learned to pick myself up
one discolored piece at a time

as the waves
start to calm
and the tides
start to quiet down

i start scribbling
i start scribbling about happiness
about how the stars are all in place
and how i have taped and colored in
my once shattered heart

Loneliness is found
58 minutes later
In the arms of a stranger
Wearing what's left of a hiked up dress
Biting down on a down pillow case
Just to ******* own emptiness

Tell me, tell me all about it
Tell me all my wrongs
I'll take whatever weight I've been gifted
Lift it, mesmerize the script and just spit it

And if you're willing
To follow this feeling
Then you can have what I've got left
It isn't much
But a touch is still a touch
Even in times when I don't feel enough
Burning just to burn bright
Lie to me and tell me it's all right

© 2014 Peach

When I cover your name
Tattooed on my left
Pectoral,

I look pretty much like
Me from right before
I sat down in

My brother's tattoo chair,
Eric Church playing on
The stereo,

Your face on my retina, like
Some beautiful snow blind-
Ness, and nearly as

Deceivingly temporary.
"You really want to
Do this, bro'?"

Machine in hand, *"It'll be
There forever..."
"So will she. Write."

Cuando yo dije "te amo"
I meant it.
Cuando tu dijiste "te amo"
You didnt.
Odio que me mientan.

Its those who have been through the hardest of times that I see create the most beauty..  I cannot imagine what you have been through..  But for you to create another universe means that you have gone through hell below hell..  And some how you have made it back.. Please welcome me to your creation..  Dear God she truly is a prayer..  One of the most least understood..  And she is happy.. Seeing her happy helps me create another heaven..

When I die, dear Mother
don't give my body away
to science.

I'd rather have it given away to poetry.

I want people to cut me open
and observe
how my bones were riddled with
melancholic verses of joyful pasts.

They have to see
the scarlet of my blood was the hue
I stole from the sunsets of
wishful thoughts.

Dear Mother,
give my body away
to the art of writing:
for they have to look past
everything they have ever learned.

They must know
of how much I loved and I lost,
and how that made the twine of my ribs
a story to tell.