They ran through the cold fog;
hearing nothing, seeing nothing, feeling nothing.

I watched them with keen eyes
as they clambered through the haze
which once stopped us in our tracks.

The mist turned to rain as a river
formed beneath them and took
their souls of youth away from them

And as they cried in fear,
I breathed in the cold fog;
hearing nothing, seeing nothing, feeling nothing.

You never looked back when you said goodbye
you left me alone and unable to cry

My heart did burst and fell to the floor
I whispered your name as you shut the door

My dear poetic friends,
I can no longer bear to lie, there's something I must tell you: I fear I'm going to die.
The other day I got real bored, so down my street I roamed. I ran into a man dressed sharply in black, whose sockets were dark and hollow.
I looked a bit closer at him, to see that his face was a skull. While gasping in shock I took a step back, and he gave me a smirk that was... dull.
He grasped my wrist and held on tight, then shoved his face inches from mine. He clacked his jaw in a robotic way, then whispered 'Its nearly your time'.
The reaper delieved his message quite clear, it seems death is coming for me. This here is my formal funeral invitaions for you.  
I hope you can make it, Vi

I’m picking myself this time.
Only because I’ve got a shortage
in this heart of mine
And somedays it feels like its beating
for other people.
When it should be working for this smile
that I’ve been faking for so long.
You’ll hate my decisions but
I’m sorry I’ve chosen my happiness
Over you.
Some days I’m still trying to find
Myself while being lost.
Some nights I’m still clinging to lost
Parts of you.
Daylight comes short when all I do is sleep.
This is another letter you won’t be getting.
Your secrets won’t leave my lips
Because you’re a memory
I’ll soon forget.
I used to write to remember
but lately I’ve been writing to forget… you

Who are we but fire and medicine for broken arms.

Ones
that held too
tight.

Ones
that never knew
when

to let go.

He calls himself a runaway,
A bandit, a thief, a liar,
But I have seen a sacred place
Trapped inside of him,
And he is just as human
As he claims not to be.

He wanders the backroads at twilight,
Whistling, wondering, waiting,
Watching for a double rainbow;
He’s seen six, and is living for the seventh,
“Another sin,” he’ll say,
And maybe he’ll never find it,
Or perhaps he’ll be released, somehow.