Sometimes I wonder how I didn’t notice
Being left outside in the cold darkness
But I think it was the softness of you playing that led me here.
With a perfect view window
Of you and your new toy
I wonder how long it will be
Till my paint wears thin
And sheds
And if you will find me, or only remember me from that time long ago

See I tricked myself into thinking you loved me
When really you just liked the feeling of my love

And now I hope your new toy never needs you in the way I do

And now I hope your new toy never feels sad and lonely

And now I hope your new toy never has to share that with you

Because I hope that you two are always happy. Cause that’s the feeling you are addicting and addicted too

And yet still I hope
one day you’ll find the space
Where I use to occupy
And wonder just as I use to

Why does it feel so empty here?
Cold and isolating
Wet with salt made rivers and dead trees
What happened and when did it happen here?

Cause I still love you but not as much as I feel like a dumb **** waiting for you... waiting for you  to realize this is the thing that you do when someone gets too sad
to give you that happy feeling you and I are addicted to.

In the morning,
they worked hard
because they worked
for themselves.

By afternoon
were disenchanted
and became goods
upon a shelf.

But that night
the moon turned red
because the toys
came to life.

The next day
the twist ties were left
but not a thing
was right.

I remember the better days,
back when the trees had color,
and the birds would sing

A mother would smile,
watching her daughters play,
skipping around with their puppies

The wind was soft,
the sky was bright,
and the sun brought comfort

Toys would litter the floor,
while giggles could be heard,
the mother shaking her head and smiling

Oh, what happened to those days?

The people changed,
the mother popping pills,
the eldest picking fights,
and the youngest, confused and terrified

She sought comfort in her toys,
and it simply brought them to life

A blue dragon and a tiger,
an unlikely combination,
were her heroes

She learned from them,
they were her best friends,
distracting her from the world falling apart

And fall apart, it did.

Hundreds
Of vividly-coloured blocks

Thousands
Of memories
Unlocked one by one
As the pieces,
Dormant for decades,
Are picked apart once more:
Space-ships, robots, pirates galore,
The shapes, the patterns, the intense concentration,
Free from distractions, completely absorbed.
The great designer,
The master of His own creation.

What he could have been,
And what he never was.

Millions
Of possibilities,

Now reduced to

One.

sadness has been eating me alive
since before i can
remember —

i was bathed in a blue tub
on a yellow table .
as mom smiled and i laughed ,

and  
i remember
nights  
i was loved ,

but
sunlight still seemed to stream on
brown carpet
or on black and white tiled floor,
as
i grew up , or
it rained ///

and
i remember
each
and every
girl ive been,
crying red
and blue .

always ;
i looked at all our toys ,
high up on our mantel

in yellows, blacks,
and
pinks:

i have grown

and yet ;
i remember
there was
me
.

Are we just actors in a play by God
Put here for him to play whilst bored on his other job
A game of sorts, with devilish cohorts, just dice for them to throw
Its all just pretend, no script or friend as once seen in the Truman Show

How many are there, moving us around from a place of unknown premise
Black holes dissolve and planets collide, Gods bored with destructive menace
We believe in so many powers but who is the real McCoy
Us just sat here for millions of years, scared of death and what comes next
But we are just their little toys

The Act

JJB

a sound, a simple movement of the hands
to make sure that every morsel lands.
trash can opens yet again
over and over.

everything useless goes
to a place no one knows.
leftovers leave our palms,
heading away with the rest.

left to get cold and rot
to which we think not.
the satisfaction in the thought
that it is gone and in other hands.

toys that no longer speak
left to die in the wreak.
no longer wanted by those
who once called them family.

leftovers and toys thrown away
are left to find their own way.

those who discard
are have this to regard.
they too become the trash,
forgotten in the waste,
the filth created by others.

we all lay to rot
this we know a lot.
on our own
by those that said
they loved us.