Stars shining bright above you.
Snowflakes flying all around you.
The beautiful stillness,
The heavenly harmony of silence.
Your mittened hand dangles shielded from the cold,
Having once been exposed,
Never wanting to face the torture again.
Once the snow hits the dirt,
It will never be the same again,
Forever tainted by the unclean ground.
Once you step on the ****** snow,
It will never be pure again,
Forever changed by the footsteps
Of those who have harmed the innocence.
But when the snow melts, and was there
Ever any snow there to begin with?
Was there innocence, joy, laughter?
Or was it all swept in on a winter wind,
As temporary as the season itself,
And borne away just as quickly?
Is there anything to hurt, to harm?
To taint?

Do you remember the last day?
Not the one where our words left burns on flesh
But the one where our tentative apologies became the salve
Where forgiveness became possible
And our future was suddenly not set in stone
We stole pens and wrote our sins on sweat coated skin
Our truths sinking into every wrinkle and every fold we created
But in the morning you were gone
And in the bathroom I found a washcloth stained with ink.

Pretty Princess in Pink
Pretty Princess Don’t Shrink
Pretty Princess Stained Ink
Pretty Princess Fatal Brink

Pretty Princess in Blue
Pretty Princess Don’t Chew
Pretty Princess Mixed Too
Pretty Princess Fatal Clue

Pretty Princess in Black
Pretty Princess Don’t Crack
Pretty Princess Stained Tack
Pretty Princess Fatal Hack

Pretty Princess in White
Pretty Princess Don’t Fight
Pretty Princess Mixed Light
Pretty Princess Fatal Sight

Though the sentence may end,
                       the ink carries on.
The cartridge seems vacant of
                                    wanton metaphors.

Exhibiting reflections on  soiled paper cups,
                wanting to be filled
with drinkable dictations of
                              what is spelt out in stains.

But I spilt that void long ago,
                          blemishing my shirt
with what meant to be drank upon.
        A decolouration of meaning read differently.

a broken lover's promise
turns from an act of randomness
into one of normality
as days begin to fade along the edges

bleed me dry in the quiet moments
& take my love for granted...

I'll leave my mark when I'm gone

Precious baby, counting sheep.
Tell me why your eyes can’t sleep?

Sweet baby..
No sheets.
This is different, not so sweet.

Darling baby, you can only laugh.
Memories they stay,
like Mary on stained glass.

i cried my eyes out for
you:
thick,
         laundry detergent
                              tears,
in sickly smelling blues .
.
.

i will never be the same,
                  i
               sup
               pos
                 e
                  ,
stained in white and red .
.
.
                                    

you know i know who
did
this
to
me,
right?
i can smell it on you .
.
.

my                      love,
do i               sure cry
for        you, my
broken heart,
it aches for you,
but          my love,
my                love is
not                    forever .
.
.