What happened to the little girl
The one who dreamed of fairytales
What happened to the little girl
Who played make believe
Who wanted to grow up to be an
Astronaut?
What happened to the little girl
Who thought the world to be a magical place
Who dreamed of reaching the stars and keeping
Them in a jar to light her way
Who dreamed of prince charming on white horses
Well she now lies in bed with tears streaming down her face
Begging to die.
She now paints pictures on her skin with a metal paintbrush
She's more broken than she is beautiful.
She no longer dreams of stars and fairytales
Now her only happily ever after is

Death

Sometimes I'll remember what it's like to be a child,
A fleeting moment of magic or wild imagination.
My chest aches with the loss of my youth;
And aches again knowing it only lives in memories.

As a child, I could have been anything;
A hero fighting mythical beasts, or
The mythical beast that terrorises my window sill.
So far I am neither.

There is a certain freedom in running as a child,
No obligations to start or stop.
Adults rarely run for no reason;
I find myself limited to a brisk walk.

I.

my lungs felt like glass bulbs and my head was full of the sea. I leaned across the glove box with my eyes closed. He told me that was the best kiss he'd ever received; maybe it was the mint chocolate chip ice cream.

II.

from far away they were green, up close though, his eyes were blue. Definitely blue. A comforter beneath my tanned legs, his  hand against my thigh. His lips touched mine, gentle and innocent. We fell asleep to the buzz of the television.

III.

algebra was another language, but when he spoke to me; I understood every equation. His kiss left my head spinning. Maybe the pencils held too much lead.

IV

we spent the summer in a run down arcade. He had a freckle on his chest that I swore looked like New Jersey. Our kisses tasted of kettle corn.

V

his hands were calloused. I wish I never knew what cigarettes tasted like.

VI

I could write an entire book about each time his lips met mine.

VII

my sweater reeked of *** but he didn't seem to mind. When we passed through the halls he called me Jess.

VIII

it shouldn't have been him, but too much ***** can impair ones judgement.

IX.

we spent nights lying in the grass, it tickled my back. He gave me his lucky cigarette.

X.

the room was dark and the stairs creaked. His fingers quickened the pulse in my neck. I kept my eyes open.

To drink the sea,
spilled over
from your eyes was not an easy task.

It was getting
dark, outside.
Inside an eternal flame
of separation
was flickering.

About the consent
of owning
privacy of truth,
I withdraw
my comments.

Now no shroud was needed
to cover the naked body.

I look to the stars
In moments of weakness,
Or serenity
The stars share their wisdom,
Their delicacy
Those that recognize this
They seek the beauty in the darkness
Flourish in the moonlight,
Bask in the wonder

So each night,
I look to the stars,
And they help guide me home.

Do not
give me a dream.

I will return my name.

There was no arrival
for me. Like wintergreen.

No ending,
no point, no tip.

A continuum
of space, time
and pain.

A stream on blackstone
flowing after the hail,
pellets of frozen tears.