Roller Coaster

Open up a box of Ben & Jerry's I'll tell her. Open up a new window on the internet and watch "That Girl" on YouTube. It's going to a bumpy ride, so hang in there. It'll get worse before it'll get better. Then, it'll get worse again.

His bipolar pattern such as that of a bell curve; safe and sound at first, then frenzied up and painful until it plummits back down like a roller coaster ride that has reached its peak and is ready to be grounded.

Hold on tight because just like the ride, he'll make you feel the flutters of a butterfly in your stomach as you prepare to quickly fall...fall right back into his arms that will at some point push you away again.

And when that happens, I'll tell her, "Ask yourself: Is that a ride worth doing all over again? Does the thrill of the ride keep the butterfly effect in your stomach causing a never-ending smile? OR does it come to a haulting end as if you've just had the wind knocked out you?

I know the ride is always tempting, but if you ride enough times knowing what can happen, eventually, it will cause you to regurgitate all of his insecurities that he filled you up with.

And the stench of his bitter life will repulse you and you'll realize that it wasn't that great of a ride afterall!

Her Gift to Him

Her tearducts they are his.

Gift wrapped in the same frenzy-patterned paper that coats her everytime they part ways, but tied with a satin-smooth bow that resembles his slick and smooth way of wrapping her up in his arms so that she doesn't leave him on those oh-so-lonely nights.

And everytime she prepares to see him, she paints her soft taupe canvas with crimson red lips that is smeared off of her by his back-lashing words; with blushing pink cheeks that turn pale when she hears him yell.

And her gift to him is always lined in jet-black- spinning in infinite circles around and around like an athlete who runs on a black track, until a stream of water flows down, causing a faint dry path going down her baby-soft cheek, marking the new direction of a streak of paint colored with pain.

The pain that is caused by the wear and tear of his man-handling hands which eagerly accept her gift, but that with one bad tear causes a jagged etch with sharp blade-like edges that in the blink of an eye he uses against her to cause a scar so deep-- deep enough to make her give him yet another gift...her self-worth.

My Estranged Muse

By times capture he has remained nothing, but a distant memory.
When at once time stood still so that my ears could catch the sound of my beating heart, so that my eyes could glance at my distending chest which sought to catch its breath; now, time treads along following me into a future which no longer holds on to him, my past.

My estranged muse- what's happened to him now?
He's far away in my thoughts, yet dangerously close in the distance.
His imprint in my life has been washed away like the gentle rush of the water as it reaches the shore and takes with it every trace of footsteps left on the sand; leaving it bare and ready to be molded once more.

At times, his beautiful impression captivated my existence. Just as a child captures a firefly in his hands and releases it at his will, he, too, released me from his grasp, leaving me to wander about, aimlessly awaiting to be caught by him once more, however, leaving me with the unsatiated hope that caused my melancholy.


To my estranged muse: my cheek no longer rests on a damp pillow- a pillow that upon touch could speak a thousand words about you, but that now is silenced by the absence of tears that are no longer shed.

The Capture

The sweet smell of innocence enticed you, my hunter.
The spell of seduction made me the prisoner of your desire.
You ravished me in your arms, poisoned my sweet lips, and bit me with your gnarling teeth to have me only as yours.
I fought the temptation to give in to your captivating grasp, but the enticing smell of my hunter melted away all attempts of resistance.
You had me at your feet.
You looked at me with pitty-filled eyes and you proceeded to devour me to satiate your lustful appetite.
You had of the meat you preyed for.
You sucked my bones dry...

MY truth is YOUR lie

On the bed our bodies lay surrounded by your sweet-scented lies.

Your sugar-coated words that reassure me that I am the only one turn bitter in the instant when the rumble of our sounds, which are created by the extacy of our passionate encounter grows silent.

And your lies stay hidden within the creases of your tossled sheets only to be awakened by the sounds of our next explosive encounter.

Yet, their you remain unmoved and unfazed by the lies that surround you- lies that are stamped in the space where you rest, in the blankets that cover you, and on the pillow where you sleep.

There your lies rest- never to be revealed, but to keep you warm at night.

Suppressed Silhouette

The silhouette of IT is infinite.

It fades into the night, washed out by the darkness that surrounds it.

It moves with a cause; unfazed by sounds.

Silently it exists unbeknownst of the breeze that caresses it which longingly awaits the awakening.

The awakening that will bring with it enlightenment that lies dormant and suppressed by fear.

Wish Upon a You...

We'd gaze down at the cty below.
We'd light up the valley.
I'd gleam because of your very existence.
My light would beam brighter than the most shining star.
Our constellation would exist throughout time.
We'd be the reason why two lovers have hope.
The two lovers would learn of our journey through time and space.
They'd get lost in the concept of our existence.
They'd realize that they could seek refuge in the starlit sky (for the stars journey never ends).
If I asked you to, you would bring me the moon.
You'd be my everything because you exist.