I see you everyday, just sitting there. Everyday I walk out of the store, I just see you sitting. I come out everyday with food for you. Heh… You always seem so hungry, gobbling down that burger. I bring you out water and you lap it down.

When it was raining that one night you were still sitting outside. I found it stupid… and sad. So I went outside with my umbrella and let you have it. When my shift was over I let you come home with me. I gave you a shelter from the rain. You got a bath and got so clean. You looked so happy! It made me smile. It’s been a long time since I last smiled, actually. Even though I gave a bed to sleep on, you chose to sleep on mine. Was it because you heard me crying from my nightmares, or was your bed not comfy enough? Either way you were warm and melted the ice in my heart. The next day, when I went to work, you sneaked out of the house and followed me. I looked out the window and giggled because you were staring at me. I stayed with you during my lunch break and we walked home together.

Remember how you tried protecting me from that man I walked home with that one night after work? Well look at you two now, sleeping on the couch together so peacefully. I see you two playing together, too. It makes me laugh and smile. It was funny when you two became like best friends and still wouldn’t let us sleep together in the same bed. But he never got mad. You helped him and became his best man at our wedding. You became the best friend of our first child. You had never left my side after all these years.

Thank you, my dog.

He goes to work a lot. He works for the smoke. Smoke out of his breath, smoke from the machines, smoke from his red ears. His wife stays away from him and advises her child to do the same. For seven years, for twelve, for more...

He was never there but I still love him, even though what he does could kill us.

The death of a man who died on the inside. This wave of immense and intense feeling, never again will they play with the silly string. Now the woman, she's free from this thing. She finally breathes freedom, released by the sharpest of knives. Cut caught by her image with ribbons and bows. Delicate as a flower, as no one would know. No other could know. A life of vile people that had been living, now she's let go. She had to. The strongest soul anyone has ever met. Now she is a woman. Pure and by design. Brave and strong. Flamboyant as a comet, aiming for the highest stars. She's going to make it, of that I'm the upmost sure. She is someone who all so adore. The catipillar did it, she had broken free at last. Left the land of being trapped, abandoned in the darkest of places.

Love and best wishes sent truly from everyone. For a beautiful, smooth, sweet, soft recovery.

Her tears frigid form brisk

winters

Icicles are what she envisages

Befuddled, he left her

For women of multiple beauty

And luzury - she aspires to be

Alluring; a siren worthy of indulging

The carnal desires men fancy.

Stare into the brute lamp

having

Suffered endeavored bruises

Contemplated to blend impeccably

She dismayed herself a long life

Her fragile and gaunt vesel.

Her eyes, not

eyes - instead

platitudinous, foggy mirrors that lack sentiments.

Her pillows became her

therapist;

The only object inclined to encounter

The wailing mess she was.

Her long-sleeves became the blanket

That serenades and lends comfort during

Situations of emotional anguish.

Her index finger be the constant

modus operandi of concealing all cataclysms.

Blue pills became her only solution to functioning.

Like normal teenage girls do - only normal girls

"Long live beautiful," she said;

Refuted of living a routine life

Of a teenager- she bled, she starved, she

bawled, she slumbered in her grave.

Looking at you is like looking at a mirror, a reflectiong in the water. Those black eyes stare back at me, that pale skin looks as if it's about to peel. Black bags hang from under your eyes as if you haven't been getting any sleep lately. Your hair, it's desheveled. Your black hair is cut short and is messy. Your body looks skinny, like you haven't eaten in a long time. Scars riddle your body. That skin makes them pop out. Red on white, red on white, red on white... That white, pale skin make those tiny, red scars just pop. Those tiny, thin, red scars aligning your skin...

Where did those come from, the scars. Were you in a fight? Were you hurt? Why? You looks as if you haven't slept in weeks and your body is riddled in cuts.

You stay quiet and cough a lot. Are you sick? Are you just that shy? Whenever you talk it's kinda raspy and you stutter and you're quiet. It's like you've never talked. It's strange to hear sometimes...

But then I come to realization.

You are annoying. You are a screw up. You're!...

At the end of the day I come back to realization, I'm just looking at you here. Heh... You're just a reflection in the water of truth, the present., result of great pain. I'm looking at nothing but a reflection in the mirror...

"You think you want to die...

...But in reality you just want to be saved"

My music box lullaby is unlike any other.

The contents of her box is only meant for me.

The curves and designs engraved into her are only meant for me to touch.

The rusty, silver lock on her is only meant for me to open.

The music she plays repeats, the small ballerina inside of her dances gracefully to her broken ticks and melodies.

Her music calms me more than anyone else.

I feel vigorous whenever I puncture my fangs and savour gratifying red, snivels of malleability desiccated from your rossette buds. You aren't really captivated by the conjecture of receiving a multitude of ancillary injuries from the negligent non-human I felt from the terror in your luminous garnet optics.

Lady of Morning.

--you mask yourself as a sunflower, vivacious with intoxicated pigments beamed from the sun's shine of aureate.

Lady of Innocence.

--sober masquerade offers a sanctuary for the remnants of pristine ego, shattered yet not shattered. Her flesh is as thick as leather, one tear would not cause malicious inferno, only tumbles of woe.

Lady of Nectar.

--each vermillion silk string residing and dissolving on immortal tongue is acknowledged for conceiving perennial hunger. She is a bee whose honey smells of florid aroma amalgamated with metallic sour, a captivating flavour to ever experience. You never fathomed my vacancy for crimson hue? Without you, I would be a man who only desires the vermilion brine your vessel has to render.

You are a healer.

Not a meal. A healer whose innocence will be the death of her.