I fall in love the way I fall asleep:
Slowly and then not at all!

She is an artist,
Of red lines that cover her waist.

She is a singer,
Of brutal screams and cries that are never heard.

She is a doctor,
Of fixing every broken heart she sees.

Yet she is a victim,
Of pain and constant internal longing.

But she is a fighter,
And you'll never know she's any different to the little 4 year old you first met her as.

"I just don't fit in,"

​I'm better off dead

"It's just a scratch,"

It hurt and it bled

"I'm just a little tired,"

I'm trying not to cry

"I'm fine, I promise,"

*I just want to die.

Peace - like a river
rolling ,

murmuring sweet nothings,
mother to child,
on the scorched evening prairie,
and the hot and lazy wind playing upon a sea of golden grasses.  

A murmuration of starlings above  - behold the great symphony in the sky.

In the morning my Love,  
you in my arms ,
peace in my heart,
it beats with fire,
peace  and peace and rhythm,
time beats on
rolling

and you're murmuring sweet nothings.
and my heart on fire .
longing.
and yearning
the river burning In the evening sun.  

it whispers an ageless story if you'll rest and listen.

the river takes me home.
to you
my peace.

I'm ready to go home..
I open a bottle of wine,
That I've been saving for a special occasion.
I bought a package of smokes,
I turn my favorite tunes

I think I'm ready to start..
Opening boxes,
Folding clothes.
Sipping, smoking and singing
Closing boxes.

I'm almost ready to go outside..
Is dark and cold,
The last one
Sipping, smoking and singing
Closing doors.


I'm ready,
**I'm ready to go.

Last night
Twas the best feeling;
The feeling of mine shirt off, just jeans, and none shoes nor sandals, bare feet and **** chest, and stomach to the midnight air; as I walked down by the river, as I always do, behind mine place....... Feeling the grass under mine feet, the blades, how they tickled mine toe's, the strange almost full moon behind mine back in the backset. The strange critter's looking at me in the wood's, and mine favorite part; looking up at the million's of star's, like little holes into heaven, wishing I was up there, looking down on everyone else as they were me.... Soon dearest stars, soon........



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry