The night before, she whispered,
"The quickest way to break a heart
is to pretend you have one."

Howling,
like you've never heard before.
And she sat next to me, radiating.
Her body jumped with every bump,
as foam blossomed out of her mouth.

And I promised her
that I would get her there in time.
And her dealer promised me
he didn't give her anything.

Howling.
I was howling,
like you and I have never heard before.
And her glazed eyes would open.
And my eyes were wide shut.
Her body lain crooked,
like the antenna of the wrecked car
my grandfather left me.

And I wondered if the planet
was moving too quickly
or if I wasn't moving fast enough -
before I decided the only time
that was real, was now.

Howling.
The police sirens were howling,
like the suburbs have never heard before.
The wails were begging me to pull over.
And the flashes of red and blue
danced across her ivory skin.
She mumbled to her deceased grandma,
and I asked her to stay.

And in that moment,
I tried to numb myself.
I tried to detach
and let the river carry me.

Howling.
I was howling,
like the deputy
had never heard before.
I begged for an escort.
I begged to go back into my car.
He looked at her knotted body
but didn't see her like I saw her.
And he told me to remain calm.
He told me to stop yelling -
but I couldn't express enough.
I couldn't release enough desperation.

And the river carried me
to the rocks before the fall.
At the bottom, I knew she was dying,
and this killed me, most of all.

Howling.
I was howling her name,
like she had heard before -
but not this time.
No, not this time.

The night before, she whispered,
"The quickest way to break a heart
is to pretend you have one."

Here right now and way up ahead. Think what you feel think about the end. Sometimes in life we dont always feelthe precious moments butbinstead we feel the knife im a negative person or so ive been told its all the anger I used to hold. But since our begining ive been glad for you are best that will of had. This poem doesnt rhyme but it tells a story. Of two teenage lifes without the glory.

So theres* this guy,  laying over there,
I think he might kiss me, but hell probably just stare. When I start to talk I look over and see this guy right here already staring at me. I wonder what it is. About my face or expression that has him confused about all my intentions. I show him affection but does he realise. That every thing I do is real for this guy.

I want a morning,
A golden glowing sunrise
Where we sit,
Just me and you.

I want coffee,
And words,
And oxygen
To be shared by our lips;
And electric currents
to synchronize our pulses.

I want mornings,
Not the kind where you wake up
sleepy eyed and still tired,
I want the kind where you haven’t gone to bed
yet and couldn’t be more awake.

I want the most catastrophic love story,
The kind that cannot be told;
The kind that cannot be imagined or thought up.

Simply because there were no words,
None which were ever invented,
That could be so impeccably bold.

Those we Love remain with us,
for Love itself lives on.
Cherished memories never fade,
because a loved one is gone.
Those we Love can never be,
more than a thought apart.
For as long as there is a memory,
they’ll live on in our heart.