Paper Doll
Your so fragile
Don’t be so Delicate

Maybe we should have made
You out of Cardboard

Paper Doll
Toughen Up

Why didn’t we make
You out of Leather

Be less sensitive
To the insensitive

You should have been cut
From a different cloth

Paper Doll
You shouldn’t be a
Paper Doll after all

The shadows grab at my frayed heart
Reaching forth their cold hands
To pull me towards the coldness
Towards despair
Towards the darkness
Desperately I cling  
Cling to the edge
Cling to the small gleam of hope just beyond the horizon
Beyond my reach
I look back down at the darkness, at the cold dark abyss
And felt a part of me call out to the shadows
And heard them call back.
I almost let go, but I saw you in all your beautiful glory
Smiling at me from beyond the ages and beyond time
So I clung harder to the edge and to the hope still beyond the horizon
I looked at my pale, white hands and felt the sharp edges of rock cut into them
Cut into me
And I saw and felt the warm, red blood flow thickly from them
My life’s blood falling into the nothingness below
I looked above the edge one more time looking, reaching, for the strength to pull myself from this nightmare, this hell
Instead the moon’s pale silver light appeared above me
I smiled and looking up at the moon I let go of the edge
Let go of the pain,
Of the sadness,
Of the hate and anger,
Of the hurt,
I let go.
Down I fell not towards the darkness,
But towards the light
Upon a golden beam of light stood an angel.
Clothed in a flowing black robe and black feathers,
of softness and fragility .
There he was waiting for me, within his dark light.
The Angel of death
Of life
Of mercy
The angel of hope and love.
I landed gently next to him upon the golden light,
And looked with wonderment
Upon his graceful black wings
With a small smile he stretched out a hand towards me.
I took it and was immediately wrapped within his warm embrace
As he rose into the air with me in his arms, a feather of pure black fell and brushed my cheek and a true smile illuminated my face.
Now at long last my torn and frayed heart could mend.

please know that I love you more than the stars, the sun, and the skies could hold.

but I don't know how to fix something without damaging it the process.

you are fragile, and my hands have unintentionally fractured you countless times. I know this, even though you've never explicitly told me.

I dance on eggshells around you: I am atlas, pirouetting across an empire of thin ice, just so I don't mar you with my words.

swallowing conversations and feelings is a talent we both possess. to spare the pain of the other, we dampen the truth. we drink the fires of resentment and leave them to ferment.

I cannot fix this without potentially damaging it further.

I'm a storm with skin. my collateral damage knows no bounds, spares no mercy. you know this. but hear me, and heed me closely.

I don't paint you as the villain. you aren't the martyr. we are equally responsible for this damage and decay. the rot of something once beautiful.

yet I cannot fix something without causing further damage.

we are a two way street. growth of beauty cannot flourish in stagnation.

please, do not test the limits of my volatility. I cannot mend the tatters of thirteen years with a single spool of thread.

I refuse to swallow fermented resentment. I walk on eggshells carrying mountains for you no more.

this tapestry will end in one of two ways: opulent splendor, or devoured by living flames.

I cannot fix something without destroying it in the process.

How fragile the butterfly
as it dances in the sky
trying to find its way home
to a place not carved of stone
soon all this will be dust
so it asks what's all the fuss?
what is all the fighting for?
silly soldiers and their wars
silly man and his laws
the only law is mother nature
for no man can escape her
she who birthed us all
she who waits when we fall
for how the mighty will crumble
as the fools they do stumble
upon the stolen hands of time
each of them suffering for their crimes
and yet the butterfly it worries not
for all that it is, is all that it's got
beauty set upon wings
it's beauty that truly sings.

something can hit you
upset your life
destroy you daily routine
make you aware
of the fragility of life

and of the statistically proven fact
     rarely ackkowledged
that bad things may also happen to you
not only to others

I'm really trying to remember.
Every time you stir the brain.
You're re-imagining it for the for first time.
Every memory you treasure, is not yours.

At first it was...
...then it wasn't
then it wasn't again...
...It sure isn't now

So then why attach yourself?
Why even say, 'Remember when...'
It's not your memory, it's your memory
of that memory.

Funny thing is though...
It comes back with an ebb and flow.
The cold biting through...whatever I was wearing...
The way the wind, rushed into the spaces provided.

I think it was in a smoking area?
Does that sound familiar?
How I felt is what I remember,
And oh, yeah, there was rain.