My life is not your little garden of flowers to pick and

Pluck parts of me from.

Love Me, Love Me Not, Love Me, Love Me Not, Love Me, Love Me Not,
Love Me.

I can't Smile happily as I watch you approach with your greedy hands
Empty once more.

How am I supposed to Smile while you Peel away my layers of

Good Intentions.

It gets old Waiting on a Maybe
And thats the only word that
Tastes Good
To You

You Breathe Fires of "Perhaps"

You ***** Potentials and Possibilities

You Craft Nooses of Love and Affection

Why is it that you begin writing love letters
And
Create Spears Crafted with
Loving Hands?

Why is it that your words are
Purple
With Poison?

They are thrown out and
Spatter
Like Blood.

Leaving your own crime scene of
Confused Tears
That Beg for More
Behind You.

Why?!

Just Tell Me What
Broke
Inside of you that you feel like
Your Sticky Games
Hold You Together

Why is your stomach always
Hungry
when I offer you the Food off of my Plate

What is Fading the Color from your Eye?  

That Grey is not
Indigenous
to the Eyes that I
Memorized and Learned.

How has your picture faded?

Why can't I just
Paint them back The Way They
Were
?

Maybe, Only Because
God
Didn't
Give
Me
The
Right
Colors

Why Then, Do I Spend
Day and Night
Mixing and Remixing

To Find the Perfect Shade of your
Joy

Maybe you just aren't
My Masterpiece
To Create
&
You Will Never Be
Finished
While the Brush is Still In
My Hand

Maybe All Along it has been
My Hand
that Held the
Knife that Scarred Me...
Maybe Not You After All

Oh Maybe Maybe  Maybe

How I Hate its Non-Commital Nature.