Letters To a Loved OneYou left me with a letter, and your body empty on the floor.I dont know how to look at you any more.I dont know how to speak.Behind my eyes youre tattooed in living ink a broken lullaby, a hated memory.I cant sleep with the thoughts, the wonderings.Im afraid to leave you alone in the house.(You could do it again. And this time )...You didnt read between the lines.My hand trembled over those words I spoke the truth,and you missed it.You couldnt hear; you couldnt see my voice.In every dream Im drowning.Please.Find the strength to mourn, forgive.I kept a place for you between every word.(I never-wanted-to live)And listen close....I cant watch you fall, anymore.I dont have anything left.Ive listened to every stupid lie,every laugh from the open mouth of Christ.Youre not a saint, youre a sinner,and I cant hold my tongue.Say something. Be s
HopeThere are so many dayswhen humanity frightensthe most compassionateperson awayit takes only a knifeor a word or a gun, andoh god,we scare so easy.I'm tired of livingwithout faith,without promise,I'm tired of not believingin tomorrow.There may not be a god abovebut believer or not,there are so manyreasons to loveI'm not giving upI'm not letting go;I'm going to dreamand one dayperhaps I will flyand I will believethe best of peopleuntil it kills me,because the momentthat you give upis the momentyou become the problem.
how to take someone for granted (instructions).i. when the weight of the world is on their shoulders, leave them be.when the heaviness transfers to you,expect their sympathy.ii. goodnight cuddles and kisses add a nice touchto a relationship; it is far too muchfor them to ask you to listen.too much time is wasted, you see.iii. yes, when they are curled up crying with their blanket or duvet or whatever instead of you for warmth, you know you're doing well.they are beginning to tellthat you only want them for your own need.iv. endless messages flood your phone. inbox. voicemail. letterbox. they want you but you are not there.you don't care. congratulations - you're not too attached.v. now it's the time to find someone newto bend-over-backwards and jump through hoops for you.she has gone crawling to someone else for support and is trying to forget your existence.and just how do you feel about that?
DrowningHow wonderful it feelsTo fall backInto the handsOf the water below.Unlike everyone elseWater envelops you,Surrounds you.Makes you feel light,Weightless.Falling downwards,The only directionYou’ve ever known.Your hair moves around you likeSeaweed on the ocean floor.Swaying,Moving,Always stationed.Bubbles that onceHad a home inside your lungsEscape freely into the water.And climb up higherTo the safety of the surface.“This is what is leftOf my existence.Little bubbles floating up,Higher and higher,While I sink,Lower and lower”And as you feelThe last bubble,The last of your air,Flow out of your lipsYou couldn’t help but smile.Even as your lungsScreamed in painAnd agony,You ignored itLike you’ve done for years.Even with the waterSurrounding you,You still managedTo cryOneLastTime.But not in sadness,For now you were leaving.Leaving the pain.Leaving the sadness.Leaving the hurt.Leaving the cruel wordsThat others w
Peonies + PoetryNiki sat under the cherry tree in her cottage garden on a large teak rocking chair. She was absorbed into another world by the tatty pages of poetry she rifled through. They were well worn and finger-smudged, but she had refused to let her husband replace them because they were, as she put it, well loved.She absent-mindedly reached for her glass of wine, lifting it but letting her hand freeze mid air as her mind was swept away in another laden sentence. Eventually the gentle weight of the glass reminded her, a jovial chiding that it had been forgotten. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled slowly out of habit, but the air was thick with the heavy scent of roses and the faint trace of the poppy-red petunias that she had planted in Spring.She was in her own little world and the glass only touched her lips briefly when she finished a poem before she realised she needed both hands to turn the page and the glass was abandoned again.The sound of the paper crinkling was almost invisible, b
Beautifully BrokenBeautifully BrokenBloody,Broken fingernails.Scratching down my arms.Across my chest.Tear it out.Tear it apart.Take it from me I don't want it.Get it out.Get it away.Blood is pouring down my cheeks,Tears finally released.I made them come.I finally managed to cry out my agony.Scratch,Cut,Hurt,Wound.Tear me apart.Give me my solace.I want this.I need this.I crave the need to tear it out.Open my chest and take my heart.Kick in my chest and crush it to bits.Let blood cover the walls,The floor,The bed.The craving is growing.The need to be free of it is gnawing at my bones.I see the words written on the wall already.I see the things I would write in blood.The desire to fulfill it aches in my fingers.No one is telling me to.I have no voice in my head.This is me.It's all me.The blood,Bring the blood.Show me bone.Give me suffering,Sorrow,Endless laughter from my masochism.I don't want to die.I just want to bleed.I just want to be alone,Painting a mast