I am a vase.
I sit alone,
on a flimsy shelf,
my vibrant colors smothered
under a layer of protective dust.

Look closely,
There are cracks in my gently rounding curves,
almost invisible,
where pieces once fit.
All made by the hands of mirrored friends.
Where blossoms of entrancing beauty once stood
there is nothing.

I am empty.

I am a dandelion,
standing alone in a naked field.
My white fluff threatening to leave
at the breath of greener pastures.
I whisper for the gusts not to blow,
but they do not hear.

I am alone.

I am a mirror.
There I hang for all to gaze into
with agonizing vanity.
I am a result
of their deep-set hubris
and ever-present pride.
I am a window to their souls,
reflecting their imagined qualities
as the naked truth of their cruelty.

They smash my candor
into a thousand lacerating pieces.

And I am broken.

Energy,
Swirling tendrils reaching out,
sparkling, shimmering gold
meet glittering emerald green,
bright and shining.
The wall comes down.

Searching minds and asking questions,
silent conversations,
all the while surrounded in
energy.

wrapping, blanketing,
soothing the loneliness.
Seeing through each others eyes,
thoughts exchanged.

Mellow tone and warming timbre,
all through softly glowing
energy.

Heart beats are racing.
My aching thoughts crave calm
from the gravity.

Paralyzing cold,
You have suffered for so long,
I love you, don't go.

I am too selfish,
I am selfish in this world,
This cold, cold, cold world.

Your quit breathing,
I still need you, please don't leave.
I'm begging, pleading.

I am too selfish,
I am selfish in this world,
This cold, cold, cold world.

Through silent screaming,
I see the soft stillness come,
and then, your last breath.

Anger, grief, relief!

Dear Johnny, Dear Jane,

We never really got along,
I never like you from the start,
so here's a little song I wrote
about your ******, ****** heart.

You have a ****** way,
you're a psychopath with pride.
The things you do to those around you
show your shittiness inside.

It's really a pity
that you're so ******,
you're ****** to the core.
You never feel love,
your ****** fits like a glove,
and each day you get ******* more and more.

All you'll ever be is ******,
you'd steal from the poor and the blind,
you'd poison the food of your neighbors kitty
and you wouldn't even mind.

You're a terrible, mean  person,
you lie and cheat and steal.
You take what you want and leave nothing behind,
you probably don't even feel.

It's really a pity
that you're so ******,
you're ****** to the core.
You never feel love,
your ****** fits like a glove,
and each day you get ******* more and more.

Your just a big, steamy, smelly, reeking, ****** pile of ****!

Sincerely, Me

Some people say cucumbers taste better pickled.

They come out wrinkled and cold,
their verdant skins hardened and crisp.

One crushing bite reveals
a soft yellow center,
soured cells seeping embalming vinegar.

Feathery dill disintegrates,
bringing biting flavor
to our cryogenic sandwich toppers

But, some people say cucumbers taste better pickled.

Wind rustled leaves kiss
softly in the morning sun,
whispering wishes.

Good mornings, hellos,
Tranquility in my days,
sun filled warm greetings.

Smoke wafting gently
through the crisp, early sunlight.
Steam come from my cup.

Flutters, feathered wings,
some covered in bright sky blue,
some brown and some red.

Brightly, singing songs
to me from their wooden homes.
Today will be good.

In my pink swimsuit,
getting ready for a day
at the beach, I hear

news so confusing.
Suddenly, my mother gone.
I sit down and cry.

My grandpa holds me,
I've only aged seven years.
Heavily sobbing.

My father takes me
later, we go to the beach
anyway, but then

see a waterspout
and a rainbow overhead,
Think of sand dollars.

I know she is safe,
I can feel it in my heart,
suffering no more.