SayanoraDon't you dare shed another tear,
I don't want to hear another word from you, "dear".
Spare me from another one of your lies,
I'm seeing you from all new eyes.
You and me,
we weren't meant to be.
From the beginning,
all you did was hide behind your falsehoods,
I could never tell when a truth was told,
but my heart was yours to hold.
Life goes on,
But you're never winning me back,
when all you do is attack.
Don't accuse me of not caring,
don't accuse me of not being there,
and don't accuse me of breaking your heart.
I never set out to hurt you,
but it seemed like you did.
You changed me,
and I feel worse now
than I ever did.
And because of that,
I have to go.
I have a life to get back.
stay out of my life...
november.the day i was born was not a day of sparkling stars and soft-spoken lullabies, of rose-colored memories and warm autumn hearts. time did not stand still, but instead slipped between shrill cries and bitter words. but i would not know; i was not there. i cannot remember my first breath, and i cannot remember what i saw the first time i opened my eyes. but perhaps i never really learned to breathe perhaps my eyes never opened after all.november.4 years ago in Write Memoirs More Like This
when i turned five, i discovered the art of being alone.
i learned that there is no celebration song when you are twenty-three hundred miles from where you belong and your family has fluttered off into the sky. i was trapped at the foot of a stranger's bed, a salty ocean tide dripping down my face. though i had no candles to put out, i figured memories of a thirteen-year-old's cigarette smoke were substitute enough i wished california would fall into the sea so this desert would feel more home.
when i turned six,
Brokenboy7.Brokenboy4 years ago in Write Memoirs More Like This
He's on his way home from school, happily clutching a big blue birthday candle.
His mom looks at him lovingly, "Happy birthday."
The car spins out of control and he screams. His mom grits her teeth and slams her foot on the brake pedal. A truck speeds towards them, horn blaring, but it's too late; she reaches for him and cries, "I love "
When he wakes up from the coma, she's already gone.
" you," his dad whispers angrily, cheeks wet with tears.
The boy starts to tremble in his hospital bed. "Dad?"
"Why are you alive, when she's " his dad's voice breaks, "she's "
"I'm cold," his voice is barely above a whimper.
His dad presses his fist against the boy's bruised chest. "I loved her," he gasps, leaving the room.
The boy curls up, hugging his knees. He wonders dully if the doctor's monitors reveal his broken heart.
A year later, he's alone in his room.
"Remember how when I was little if I had a nightmare you'd wake me up, and then I'd fall asl
I'll meet her again...Its Samhain. The line between the spiritI'll meet her again...5 years ago in Sestina-ween More Like This
world and our own is a ray of moonlight.
Its the night when the reluctant soul sticks
to our plane, hovering - a withered rose
whose beauty is the figment of a dream;
a gleam gilding the surface of the lake.
For long hours of idyll would the Lake
poets revel in letting their spirit
soar free on the nightingales wings, and dream
of glimpsing their Muse clad in pure moonlight
but tonight magics afoot: clouds just rose
to blur the moon like fumes from incense sticks.
The Romantics habit of rambling sticks
to mind tonight, as I stroll to the lake
and sit down to recall the violent rows
wed have every night, before her spirit
gave itself over to the bland moonlight
and chose to rest and die, not live and dream.
But perhaps tis I thats strayed in a dream?
For in that small nest, fashioned out of sticks,
I see her visage, painted in moonlight.
I glimpse a lady traversing the