The first thought I
encountered was ,
this poor girl
does not eat.

As our friendship
developed into
more than
I ever imagined
it would
I discovered she
did indeed eat.

When I
say eat
I mean more like
demolished all
that
was presented
before her.

Her sometimes
sickly appearance
was caused
by  the problems
she kept  hidden
behind a
locked bathroom
door.

It seemed the
porcelain hollow
had an appetite
for her insides.

Like a devoted
worshiper
to its Pagan God
she gave up her
offerings after
completing
each and
every meal or
even a snack.

Her sickness
clouded
her image
of herself.

I told her
she was
beautiful.
She called me
a liar and told
me to never
come back.

So I
did'nt.

There's only so
much you can do
for the sick until
they themselves
are prepared to
fight.

Too many
pills can
slow the
heart.

Too much
of a
good thing,
tears that
good
thing all
apart.

Underneath the painted rock
you'll find a key
I ain't much for hiding
but that's just me
There's a book of pomes (yeah, pomes)
beneath my pillow
You might find one or two
to your liking
But that's a'right if you don't
I wrote 'em
for you, any ol' way
Come September
if I don't remember
where I hid my key
That book of pomes'll be
still beneath my pillow
If you care
to take a read.

r ~ 7/12/14

How cruel this world can be
as to when someone starts
to mean so much to you
you begin to mean
so little to them