The orange traffic cone
Held it's breathe
As the blue Suburban curved
An inch too close.

It watched as the cone to the left
Met slightly with the bumper,
Knocked to the side,
And with a thud, fell to it's death.

The orange traffic cone
Let a single tear slide down it's plastic side,
In memory of it's
Silent friend.

I felt it today.
It pulled the corners of my mouth,
And released me from the
Pouring rain.
It took my hands,
Made the sun shine
A little brighter
And promised to
Let things
Stay this
Way for
Just a
Moment
Longer.

i reached out to you today
tried to hand you the rope
that would save our love
from drowning in
our tears
you made me believe
that you grabbed the rope
and you were ready to
reach dry land
instead you pulled me into the water
and watched me drown
like a sick little puppy
i still called for you
but you just laughed and turned away
now our future is lifeless
and so am i
youre now walking free
on my old foot prints in the sand
and i hope with every step
you remember tonight
and hold your breath
i hope you stare into the salty water
praying to be greeted with my smile
but only to meet your true reflection

It calls me
It's *****.
The sweet, but
Oh so bitter
Taste.
*****.
My first love,
Can't haunt me
Anymore than my current love.
My parents can't
Abandon
Me any more than
I have
Abandoned myself.
***** makes it
All so much more
Bittersweet.
A grown woman,
Mildly intoxicated
Feels so much more than
My childhood ghost.
Remember
Innocence,
The very innocence that
Never existed.
Hold onto your bottle
Drink up, sweetie.
Drink up the very drink
That destroyed your
Family.
The magical drink,
The one that calls to you
Late at night.
It hears your cries,
More than any other
Person in your life.
Now you understand
Why Mamma loved it
More than you.

My back twitches and
Pain shoots down my spine.
It's strange,
How words can become
A dangerous knife.
An action isn't
Necessary,
Only intent.
My blood on your hands,
Merely water in your
Eyes.
Sisters we whispered,
Murderer you became.
Remember me
In your dreams,
Remember my words,
The ones that bandaged
Your cuts,
And remember your words,
The ones that slit my wrists,
Punctured my back,
And watched me choke
On my own
False sense of security.

A woman
Who has been turned into clay,
Eventually dries
And becomes hard, cold and
She won't be molded
Any longer.
Don't throw her
Out the window because
She refuses to take
The shape you
Wish she were.
Decorate her with the
Colors of faithfulness,
Love and acceptance.
She will continue to be
Unmoldable,
But she will take an all new
Shape,
One she is proud of,
And her warmth will
Glow through out the night.