I'd heard horror stories in the playground, seen embarrassment and tears.
Shared in secrets that were passed around like candy.

Not for me.
All the messing about and the working it out. I didn't want Bad *** by misadventure.

Like you said.

I waited. Not as long as the good girls, but longer than my mates.

You were worth it.

I was a bundle of nerve endings and inexperience but it was perfect, you were brilliant.
Just the thought of you sends shivers down my spine.

My best kept secret.

I wonder about you, at times. About your life, what you do, if you're happy or feeling blue.

Your children: Would I know them in the street? I guess now they're all grown up.

Just like me.

Before you can feel the soft touch of poetry
and it can play a song for you,
look for the positive aspect in moonlit shadows.  
Stop and wonder
how a heart breaks then makes friends
who give of themselves
until they bleed out on the cold floors
of the world.

Do you find that time lays heavy on you
within dreams
where snow melts in pictures
of piercing eyes
that mail letters to the moon.
Or are you afraid to look out the window
and stop pretending
you are falling in love with being all alone
with just your heart and a slingshot?

What litters the path where your feet move
calling out to the sky
that there is no magic wish
staring at you
waiting for you to finish.
Does your breath catch in conversations
held with snowflakes
that spin and bow then fade away
leaving you to wonder
where you go
from here.

Has it come to the point
where you walk in the places
where white lies run through the stream of life?  
Does innocence struggle with colors
that make our eyes believe nothing is true
when something new becomes old
inside of winds that creep
and freeze like icicles.

Before you can feel the soft touch of poetry
and it can play a song for you,
you must have walked this path
I have described.  
Do not stand up and leave with your
thoughts racing,
climbing higher and higher,
lest you become one of those hearts
that bleed.

Insanity lies there, in corners,
Along with spiders of my mind
Their web it's made of irises
Of my memories left behind.

Memories, dreams and feelings.
They all passed over my beliefs,
On a floor of spinning ceilings,
A sky of autumnal leaves,
Withered bits of a decrepit soul.

Time is fierce...
My skin is rusted, hard as stone
Maimed and parched to the bone -
I need a pill, just one more.

Dawns won't pierce
My thoughts falling high
In a sea of toxicity -
There's a pill which might
Bring me closer to the light,
Far from its velocity
And its painful shards
Dissipated in pitched, soften clouds.

There's always a pill
And another pill -
To strengthen up my will.
Though, I will never feel
My emotions crystal clear.
These fake illusions
Will never cheer
Heavy whispers in my ear.
Diseased blood transfusions
Of my dreams becoming real,
The world has stood still
While I tremble, poisoned with fear.

*So I'll take another pill
Because I fear...

I often find my spirit
In the silence of the trees
Drawn on a canvas of late October.
My walks have led me
To a strange, cold scenery -
I close my eyes, tender the breeze
Of falling, mourning leaves.

And I'm falling too, gently -
Caressed by the air once more,
The led sky will gore
My skin into rusty pieces,
My sight in creases,
Before I breathe out,
Gently.

I've also found my heart.
Dry, thin...thin and weak,
Lieing on the ground -
Diving into the sound
Of crushed agonies
The silenced pains,
Under my feet -
And I crushed it...
Crush it again,
For I must keep walking
Through this morbid creek,
This feeling of horrid stalking.

I've lost my life in the silence
Of forgotten, closed eyelids.
The horror... I can't stand
The breathing of sulfur air
In nightmares, in prayers
Of a crooked soul on a leaf,
Falling, dieing, sinking in
This painting of quiet trees
I used to hold within.