You're like the shiny red apple,
picked for its outward perfection.
Sliced open, rotten,
with the grainy leftovers
of a worm quite comfortable
to be flying incognito in your heart.  
Whitewashed tomb,
with decay at your core.

Sometimes as a poet
It is easier to write
And relate to the things that hurt

Because the heart knows
What it means
To feel -- beautifully terrible

As a drenched, drowned bee
Hangs numb and heavy from a bending flower,
So clings to me
My baby, her brown hair brushed with wet tears
And laid against her cheek;
Her soft white legs hanging heavily over my arm
Swinging heavily to my movements as I walk.
My sleeping baby hangs upon my life,
Like a burden she hangs on me.
She has always seemed so light,
But now she is wet with tears and numb with pain
Even her floating hair sinks heavily,
Reaching downwards;
As the wings of a drenched, drowned bee
Are a heaviness, and a weariness.

I look beyond my tears
and see that you are gone
I wonder now what to do
Where does my lonely heart belong?

You said our love would never die
but ashes are what remain.
For this reason now I cry
this suffering causes pain.

how can our love be dead?
for you my heart still sings.
I remember what you said,
in my head in still rings:

"Love doesn't end with death,
our hearts will beat as one,
for me your love is a final breath
as this bullet leaves this gun."

Lovely seeing around
Today for me
Pure innocence
Blaming the ways
The way we parted ways
Like a lake
Flowing by it's reflecting man
With shallow understanding
Similarities stay