One day I’ll end up dead
No more words in my head
Hope all my pens are out of ink
Left on pages when I tried to think

I’ll be dead and gone
Only my words to live on
No more rhymes or even prose
Cover my grave with a rose

Cry for me, pages wet with tears
I wrote you love poems, all my years
Read them when it’s late at night
Read the ones where I find the light

A greenish wonder; wrapped in white,
It gave a floral scent of sublime delight.
Plucked from life; it held a belle desire,
There it held the glamorous shire.

The purpose was lost; a withered corpse,
The vase remained; a ceramic coarse.
Depraved of soul; an empty gloom,
There was a vase in my room.

your little bones could not outlast
the fevered fire that burned too fast
you died curled up against my thigh
for hours i didn’t know how to cry

you weren’t a god, you weren’t a guide
only fur, and warmth, and love inside
no words to give, no voice to lend
but still, you were my sweetest friend

i shared my wins in quiet light
you wagged your tail just right
you didn’t speak, but still you knew
my joy was yours, and yours was true

now some days pass without your name
and guilt arrives like quiet flame
but from above you lay upon my chest
a pitter-patter, small and blessed

you don’t stay long—you never do
you know to leave before i lose me too
like bubbles born in tender skies
you rise, you shine, then softly die

a bubble’s life is short and sweet
but still too long until we meet.

so when i cross that final line
i’ll bring you home one last time
you’ll squeal and jump into my lap
tucked in tight, ready for your nap

next time though, you’ll be here to stay
i know i’ll have bubble back some day

Strands of wind go over a city,
Blowing out tender light in the sky.
Through the streets, down the road to the center,
It comes dressed in a decayed facade.
A murmuration of starlings keeps changing,
Notwithstanding the wall clouds around.
With no omen outside of the collapsing mansion,
In the dark, it is cornered yet smiled.

Forming a shape in the air, on the windows,
Drumming as if it wants to break in.
And it murmurs sweet words you won't listen,
Since you've locked yourself deep and within.
Shallow eyes are alive, out for answers;
Nails break tissues, revealing the red.
For a decade, a line hasn't been crossed
But it walked over soon when the warning was made.

Now it wears the nice clothes, and it fakes it so well,
Keeping in what is broken, wallowing with no shame.
And the world doesn't notice, the sky is now clear.
You are staying in the corner, so fragile and thin.
It came up with all answers; didn't want to break in.
It is wearing a suit you sewed to fit in.
It might not look so pretty; alas people do not care.
They don't tell empty words from the hell that is there.

It speaks loudly, as sane, without a shadow of doubt.
And the voice that was sweet now has familiar sounds.
Birds are gone with the wind, there is one to blame.
You did not let it in yet allowed it to stay
And replace what was live with what had to be gone.
It is rotten inside; now your mouth's rotting, cold.
Your hands opt for a battle but are biding and glued.
It is seen by too many; you, forgotten and *******.

Picking rags from the floor, you come out of the room.
All of a sudden it is you covering light in the blue.
And you don't realize just how long it has been.
You've been searching for an exit you've robbed yourself of. Still,
You beat on the windows, again and again,
You are hoping to wake what is already dead.
Wasting wishes for a dream to end up somewhere else.
Coming back into clothes that just fit it too well.