So you showed me your kite
It was green and red,
Contrasting,
Yet quite beautiful.
We'd sit on the edge of a bench
And fly it in the fields.
Watch it floating away
High into the universe.
It felt it was part of the majestic clouds:
***** of melted marshmallow.
You let me try to fly it
But I knew my strength
Wasn't enough.
I trusted you though.
As soon as I did
The kite pulled me firmly,
Brutally.
I felt sick.
My arms were weak.
Why, when you did it
You looked so strong and
So candidly powerful.
But when I did,
My life flashed before me:
The potent pull.
After a couple experiences
I chose not to fly it,
I just watched you
Time and again.
It got tiresome.
Tedious and mundane.
Dull green, faded red.
Kite high in the sky
Commanded by the unrelenting wind.
No longer did the clouds appear majestic,
Merely grey, an obnoxious grey.
And once they created raindrops every night
You carried on.
I stopped.
Even with the rain
You carried on.

The thing that we dwell on,
Sometimes reaches a threshold that we
Cannot function anymore we have not
Attained a full level of this
Subjective, unattainable thing; its absence is
depression. These peaks and troughs we
deny are just fleeting moments in
something that will become our history.
Our children will look and say,
You should be grateful, you had
it all: the money, the possessions
the happiness. But it’s not all
that is it? It’s the people
on my continuum. I’ll meet you
and you’ll pass me by on
the street and we’ll never say
hello because you’d much prefer to
be consumed in your possessions and
self. Whereas I’ll meet another and
we’ll share our ideas and maybe
even our lives together. You’ll inspire
me to write about something, or
perhaps we’ll never meet. We can
Only speculate what role you play
In my life at this moment.

Let's not build anymore memories
Before we live to try not to remember them.

Your face wasn't a photograph,
Nor was it perfection.
No emotion, no sanction.
Very three-dimensional
Very real.
Every inch of your body
Your words, your life;
Real.
This is tearing me into thousands of tiny pieces.
Ripped pieces of paper
In an overflowing mountain in a bin.
A scrapbook
Inside live scribbles of my
Dead, overly sensitive insides.
Every single tear dried my body
Of hydration.
Can you die from crying too much?
Syllables of your words:
Promises to being a better person.
But I want to be elsewhere
I can totally close my eyes and
Become blind temporarily.
Regrettably, it was my fault.
My very own words, caused me the hurt
That you then further induced.

Deep inside I am a ball of colour.
Waiting, wanting
To explode into a firework
Releasing, bursting into light.
My tears are colourful:
Royal purple, sparkly, and shiny.
My heart isn't just red,
It's shades of love.

But I am being held down by you.
You're suffocating my colour,
Putting your hand over my mouth
Choking, deflating every bit.
And now I'm like the smog from a chimney:
Dark and coal-like, and I stick to you
Like a horrible odour:
Disgustingly attached.

A selfish part
That I will never
Share with him
A passionate part
That I could never bear
To express to him
A beautiful thought
Destroyed
By an ugly action
A talentless wording
To a mediocre
Melody ...

And as I was admiring your beauty,
You were melting away...