You know what I hate? When people from the past come back.
When I did everything for them to be there friend to support them to motivate them to be there when they had no one to turn to and push me to the side and put a bullet on my head like a cow to the slaughter house.
From people saying oh my god I miss you to saying I miss hanging out with you you were so special to me. **** that. *******. You just figured out what I'm worth. I'm not saying I'm perfect when I'm wrong I'm wrong and I take responsibility for that but when someone I used to have a bond with and they do me wrong and they're the ones that want to Come back? You burned that bridge. don't try building a new one because it's not build on the same foundation.

You always preached
about burning bridges.
Voice laced with warning.
But here I stand.
A handful of matches
and gasoline.
With my chin held
high.
Ready to reduce you
to ash.

She tossed the kindling
twigs, dried leaves, and an old piece
of tattered fabric,
at the base of the sturdy bridge.

The wind whipped her white lace dress,
and lightning flashed
as she smiled a secretive grin
before the thunder kicked at the night.

The flames danced with so much grace
under the angry sky,
and she danced with them;
small feral motions and twirls,
as the structure smoked,
and more dancing
always dancing...
until the lovely ruins smoldered
and all that she was left with
was a faded memory
of what the smoke
must have smelled like.

(haiku)

He's fire, red flames on
Incinerating bridges
To my distant past

I'm drowning in an ocean
But the water tastes so sweet.
It's not that far around me
But miles beneath my feet.

Everyone is walking on their own bridges,
But their bridges have never been wet.
Their hands are outstretched
and calling my name.
How could they all forget?

"You're the one who pushed me in!"
I yell, as water fills my throat.
As I sink I'm offered one of two things;
A set of gills or a float.

I'm used to being wet now;
Is drowning such a crime?
There's nothing for me at the surface
But resuming my job as a mime.

See, my misery is my harmony,
So if I can learn to breathe in the sea,
Refuse to think, let myself sink,
This might be able to work for me.

So stop putting all your hands out.
Please, you might fall in too.
I've learned to love the water
But the water might not love you.

I love you, Mother, Father, Lover.
I'm sorry for all that I've done.
I know that this may hurt you,
But I'd rather swim than run.

The merchant taps his toes impatiently
And tells me now to pick.
But he should know how this goes by now;
Goodbyes are never quick.

I shed a tear for my friends and family.
I think of every song that I've ever sung.
"I don't want either," I tell him.
And the water fills my lungs.

Don't burn your bridge with me
The one that crosses the rift, let it be

For I won't send you a boat
That kind of **** won't float

Once you have decided we're done
Around you, I'll no longer come

No more favors, no more help
More matter how much you yelp

Once you've burned that bridge, turned it to ashes
I won't be there for your crashes

Make sure this is what you want
I'll no longer be there to be sought

I'll go on without you
Alone you'll have to pay your dues

So go on, blow that bridge up
You'll find you'll be left with a stump

Apparently blessings soon wither
Where your star shone

Reminisce
In the darkening sky
There's a Taj Mahal!
Undulating endless
Asimetry of
Love

Floating above
The placid
Waters

One
Glimpse ~
My wet hands
Kyoto protocol
Hair in a Thankfury
Violet Versace

And your smiling coasts
Me wrapped in a black coat
Lush lucrative dynamics
Zarathustrian imperative!

Covering your manly
Shoulders

Dig a grave in my
Hollow submarine
Diminishing distance

Was I, to call your firm hand's
Grip ~a lesser degree in Hiking,
Or a postponed poetic height
Thumbs entwined. . .

Spirited as a killer
Eagles mudra
You stare at
My profile

Well ~we stand
Opposing as a lovers
Of A grand Poetic

Name surpassing the time
Awaiting, courting, questioning
Via simile to the blood under
The Bask's barret

No, the ring I've put aside,
My hands are bare tonight!

Bewildered, I´ll stumble forth
within a bright new day to
complete your sermon.

You usually brake the cliche
Walking hand in hand
With Affar Authors
With Dead Spirits
With Alive Authors
Playing dead, unknown
Within the journalists eyes..

When they whisper

Wisdoms to your son's father

When they sturm und drang my sweetest
Sister

The softest spring is coming forth and
I know where to find you. In southern sighs.
Dreamy. Uncatchable.

Playing

I am torn between loving and unloving you;
Burning bridges and closing doors
Or jumping into the void
And perhaps;
Learn how to fly.