I can't quite put my finger on it
Why I feel the way I feel
Blade across my skin
So I can tell if its real
The pictures in my head
The reason I can't go to bed
Silence is all I hear
The loudest cry

I look out over my empire
And see all the people I hurt
Up higher
Higher
Until they can't see me
So longing to be free
To find peace and harmony
Deep breathes
The smell of defeat

As I walk down the narrow road
Turning points
On my left
On my right
But which way do I go
Fading darkness
Or blinding light
Which way is wrong
Which way is right

Broken promises
Is all I see
What do you see

I promise to be good
I promise to be helpful
I promise to stop cutting
I promise that I am grateful

Maybe I'm not supposed to know why
I feel the way I feel
But I now know
I don't need a blade
To tell if its real

"Your hair smells so good", you sighed, as I covered your face in a veil of my faded chocolate brown locks. The scent was Juicy Couture and cheap cigarettes

      It was a smell hard to enjoy by most, yet you had an easy smile on your face as I shifted my weight around to tickle your face with my hair. I sat straddling your hips and hovering over your small torso; admiring things about your face most don't notice and only finding beauty in each imperfection.

     You told me you loved the way I smelled after I questioned your adoration for my scent. You revealed that you enjoyed wearing a sweater I had borrowed from you simply because it smelled of me; and that you were saddened when it was soiled.

     I smiled the way I always do when sweet words tumble from your even sweeter lips.


     I had woken up alone that morning, like most other times I spent my nights in your bed, and hated it more, and more each time I had to wake up without you. It wasn't until late afternoon that you arrived at the place you call home and greeted me.

     We smoked together in your bedroom, the place I am more comfortable than anywhere else, and after a moment you removed yourself from the floor, and laid to rest on your bed. Wanting nothing more than to lie close to you, I seized the moment before it passed and asked you to make room for me next to you.

     We laid in bed for what passed like seconds, but lasted hours. We drifted in and out of sleep as I rest my head on your arm, taking in your scent with every breath.

I doubt I would be successful if I tried to describe your scent with words. Your scent to me is more than what words could only make it seem; I can only describe it with emotions and experiences.

Your scent is that of late night laughter with our old friends, new friends, and people we hardly know.
It is the scent of Friday mornings spent in bed, blissful love making, cigarettes, and a loved sweater.
It's what I wouldn't mind waking up to each morning, or falling asleep to each night.
It is the scent of old memories, and new ones to come.

And it is the very one that I adore most.

The most beautiful smile I've ever seen
was accompanied by crinkled eyes,
and a figure so lean
(and don't forget those laugh lines!)
It lit up every room, and brightened any day,
and the eyes above it sparkled with compassion,
Until Death's cold grip snatched her away.

My parents are divorced,
And yes, it's plain to see
That their divorce affected me.

But that's old news.
I know one thing, one thing for sure:
That I am their child, but nothing more.

(Not a product of their misfortune)
If I've not been sentenced their same fate...
Why am I afraid to date?