your words hurt me,
your actions break me.

i'm not your friend.
for ***** sake,
i'm not your friend.

you hurt me.
and i'm sorry i cannot
talk to you.

it hurts me
to imagine hurting you.
so i'll stay quiet.
because apparently that's
what i'm best at (remember?)

but my god,
i'm not your *******
friend.

so leave me alone.

i like your hair,
your art,
and the way you flick
your wrist when you paint.

i'm a whisper of a ghost,
you can't see me,
but i wonder if you can
feel my cold touch on your skin.

the pixie plays
in a sky full of
inky spun clouds of
died cotton, but she
can't manage to realize
that none of it is real at all.

i'm tripping over shoelaces
and falling over beating hearts
while you are watching
with amused, worried eyes.
my fingers turn to ice
and i manage to mumble
"i like your hair" before
the world ends and
my shoelaces are strangling me.

and it is beautiful
the snow fall making a winter blanket
for all the trees
meanwhile
on the other side of the world
a child in his bed gets his leg blown off
or just dies with nothing but hunger and pain
so I went about hanging lights on the
two evergreens in my yard
and the fake plywood santa
in his sleigh and all eight tiny reindeer
and had a realization again
of a boy and a ******* the streets of downtown Atlanta, Chicago
Detroit, or New York or Daleville
with no home, trying to live out of a small chevy or Ford or
Dodge , while Chevy and Dodge, got government help?
And they have no books , and their mom has bruises and
a broke arm and tries to care for them and cries while they sleep in the backseat and knows she could have done better and
is against the windshield in her hating herself
ashamed with not a bit of hope,
and I sit the star on top of the Tree and the glow lights the lawn and santa
winks in a pattern and Rudolph's nose glows red,
and it is all so beautiful

I was a work of art;
You fell in love.
Until you realized you could look,
But couldn't touch