old couch patterens.

the window opens

as the wind rushes to you;

climbing up your spine

bringing memories home.

the black roses rest

lying, dying,

trying to breathe in your

soul.

as you bite your stiff-dead-fingers

you can still hear the soft melody 

of life

singing in your throat.

you drag yourself down sorrow road

only finding a dead end;

full of lonely springs

and frozen summers.

your broken eye lashes fall from

heaven

landing in a mess

leaving a disaster;

flying to hell.

wishing the questions would 

flee, they bombarded america 

while every living soul is left
motionless. 

as the old couch patterns fade
as the air screams for mercy,
as the guilt clutches your leg.


we curse the moon
chasing the birds
wasting the seconds 
we all cry.


the last breath is spoken 
letting the words soar from their
life 
they breathe;
if i were prettier..
would you have loved me? 

the markings of a colorless girl. 

this is for you kate and tess.

you made me.