• I'd Learn
• Fool
• Drowning Sea of Words
• A Song
• Blind
• Last Kiss
• Sarah
• Passions
• Jessie
• A Women
• Fog
• Foedus
• Best Friends
• If
• If Only
• The End
• Mrs. Curly
• Only Thirteen
• Ophelia’s Cry
• How to Sell Your Sole
• A Girl
• Servant
• Untitled Poem
• Olive Eyes
• Conversations
• My life
• Not Goodbye
• *His*
• When I Need to Disappear
• Chocked
• Invisible
• The Mafia Hit Man
• Random Acts of Thought
• Amber

• Coming Attractions
• My Birthday
• Keep My Head Up

• Breaking Up
• Prom Night
• Untitled
• The Maharishi of Telegraph Avenue
• Ariana
• Tomorrow I Will Wake 

If I had just one
tear running down your cheek,
maybe I could cope
maybe I'd get some sleep.
If I had just one moment at your expense
maybe all my misery,
it would be well spent here.

Could you cry a little,
lie just a little,
pretend that you're feeling
a little more pain.
I gave now I'm wanting
something in return,
so could you cry a little for me?

If your love could be caged,
honey, I would hold the key,
and conceal it underneath
the pile of lies you handed me.
And you'd hunt,
and those lies,
they'd be all you would ever find,
and that would be all you would have to know
for me to be fine.

Could you cry a little,>die just a little,
than, baby, I'd feel
just a little less pain,
I gave now I'm wanting
something in return,
could you cry a little for me?

Give it up baby,
a whimper would be fine,
some kind of clue that
you're doing time,
some kind of heartache, honey,
give it a try.
I don't want pity,
I just want what is mine.

Could you cry a little,
lie just a little,
pretend that you're feeling
a little more pain.
I gave, now I'm wanting
something in return,
could you cry a little for me,
baby, could you cry a little for me?

Two different worlds are colliding as these pointless clouds
suffocate my eyes.
I am as blind as I'll ever be, blackened and worthless my hands guide my
way into a life not wanted.
Stupid worthless being with more common sense than anyone could possibly
handle,
I am what this planet has evolved to.
What happens when sight has been taken from you?

You disappear.

Strange how it is that these simple minds with perfectly good working eyes
fail to notice explosions in their heads.
I, the careless, sightless, idiot see milli-seconds before they're even
born into schedules and ticking time bombs planted underneath your car seat
at this very moment.

Blink.

Just like that I'm gone, I knew even as a one-celled organism I would fail
to be accepted into this disabled society.
Laugh, cry, just feel your ghostly feelings while I stare into your soul.
Somehow I find the touch of the ceiling fan more entertaining than your
complex human emotions.
Become my military and don't forget to close your eyes.
Stop imagining your whole life, instead create that image.

Feel it.

Go inside and capture the pure entity of the truth.
Don't regret the scars that appear on your body.
Why care about the past?
History is nothing, just empty space that shouldn't matter when the present
is now and now is the present.
Rank me and I'll just sit back and laugh.
My importance is greater than your limit of thought.
So make me your dictator or make me your pest, the time in which you take
to decide will be at your own expense.
Every mistake we have made will repeat itself after the end of time.
The beginning will start again.

Blind man is the default that will allow you to survive.
Remember to forget to thank me, I mean nothing to you anyway.

It wasn't supposed to end like this
That wasn't meant to be our last kiss
The world took you away from me
Without you I can no longer see
Now I am in this would all alone
With a heart now made of stone
My heart was stripped and left bare
But I love you and will always care
I don't understand why life shut its door
I wish I could kiss you just once more
I will never forget what we had
All alone I am left mournful and sad
Our love I know I'll forever miss
We shouldn't have shared our last kiss

Life is too short to fill it with lies.
Life is too short so make each day a surprise.
With every single minute and every hour flies,
at least one person is hurt or even dies
Don't hurt each other,
whatever color or size.
And as our earth and nation will rise.
We'll bless our lives to the god in the skies.
Life is a very short prize.
Don't take it for granted because everyone dies.

Only when the lights go dark
Can one reflect.
Only when the lights go dark
Can one discover
Passions.

His mother blows out the candle
And he is left.
He reflects on days past
Always it is passions.

The dark woman prepares
For eternal sleep.
The spirit searches
Hoping to find importance.
Passions are all that remain.

Before she leaves home
She looks upon all
And finds herself wondering
About passions.

As he looks upon her sleeping face
As she looks upon his sleeping face
They each see
Passions.

Ages ago
A man sits with only air
Between his papyrus and ink
And he writes about none other than
Passions.

A hidden face
Mysterious and knowing
Sees what others cannot-
Passions.

 Simply put, she was bloody brilliant. Vacuously piercing green eyes, ,
infinitely dark hair ,which seemed to mercilessly engorge photons  from the
corresponding light sources and a lightly tanned yet fair complexion that
perfectly complemented her enticing features, were just some of her
intoxicating attributes. Looking at her seemed to me as though I was staring
into the void of some inextricably perfect place (i.e. HEAVEN) and feeling
that perfect place’s ravenous beauty radiating towards me through the medium
of this heavenly creature’s image. And then I woke up!!!!!
>
> "WHY??????" I screamed into the nothingness that was my room. Why did I
have to wake up, I began to steadily think to myself. It’s not as if I’m
ever going to meet anyone with those specific physical characteristics,
right? So why can’t I have the pleasure of enjoying my hormonally based
manifestations?
>
>Then it all came back to me, the overwhelming feelings of rejection, grief,
loss, guilt, nonchalance, nostalgia, grief, numbness ,embarrassment, and
incomprehension (and the list could easily go on) all rolled into one
eloquently placed sensation pulsating through out my veins and concentrating
in the upper chest area where most mammals would locate their heart. But not
me. Instead of a heart I possessed an irreplaceable vacuum that was slowly
sucking a large percentage of my inner organs into it’s dark recesses. One
might ask why  was I tormented so. Well the answer to that question would be
paradoxical in nature but a simple explanation would be that I was fifteen.
Fifteen and suffering from the effects of a broken heart, or whatever a
broken heart meant when you were fifteen, and whatever did love mean, or
more astutely put, what will love ever mean? It is conceivable to believe
that the answer to those paradoxically seeming questions would arrive with
the passing of time. !
All I could believe is that I felt, well, pretty lousy.

 The British, God bless every single last one of them, extrapolated a
single word to describe this embittered emotional state, the word being
"GUTTED". Not in any other language or sub-dialect would you find such a
word that would permit you to give justice to this horrible yet equally
eye-opening sensation.

By now your probably going, what the hell is this guy on about? Well, I’m
on about my girlfriend leaving me, I’m on about being rejected. Satisfied?
One would think that a nine month relationship would secure some sort of
understanding,  between both parties involved.  Obviously, this had not
transpired in our case.

Who ever said that teenagers are carefree and enjoy the elusiveness or
irresponsibility must have been a real loser in his day. I am certainly not
carefree, I have G.C.S.E. exams looming over the horizon, desperately
seeking for some reprieve for my emotionally disemboweled status and
incapable of deciphering the complex, chemically based electrical signals
originating from my infinitely confused upper cerebral hemisphere (the area
in the brain responsible for thought and emotion).

I had always prided myself on my disassociated maturity. But where was
this maturity now? And why hasn’t it aided me in my awfully juvenile, yet
not so childish, predicament. It is conceivable to believe that my
capability at looking at certain situations with a distinct point of view
has worked to my disadvantage in this circumstance. Oh well, I’ll live, I
HOPE!

 And that is how I had finally, fully  engrossed myself in adolescence. By
breaking up! Breaking up, and thus begins the story of my life, regretfully.

Babe ya need to change your wayz,
Cuz it seems like your head is in sum haze,
I know that hearing this becomes a pain,
But now I hear you snort coccain.
What happened to you?
You were different in grade school.
Oh your boyfrien got the best of you I see,
Changed you into a gansta wannabe.
But tell me now where is he?
Yeah six feet under next to some tree.
whatcha gonna do with that baby on the way?
What guy are you going to screw today?
Chic we were like sisters in middle school,
Back then you were cool,
But now ya just a fool.
Your selling dope outta your ma's own yard,
Your going to end up on the streets and trust me that life's hard,
>And then you've got a recond for shop liften in da malls,
People call you easy, tashy and a slut in the halls.
Come on don't you see where your life's gonna go?
Arn't you sick of being a hoe?
You need to lay off all the Pills, the crack, and the weed,
All the acid, the extacy,the shrooms, and the speed.
You can pull your life together if you just try,
There are alot of things out there better then getting high,
Please Jessi take my advice,
Becuz rite now your on thin ice.

Well that was the last time I talked to her,
She caught HIV sum time later,
And her and the baby died during labor.
This is a sad story but true,
Don't let the gansta life get the best outta you.

A woman died today. I knew her when she was a young girl. Though
I wonder if she was ever young. She was always in a hurry to grow up. She
never truly enjoyed her childhood, maybe because her father never let her.
No, it was not his fault. She was always in a hurry to grow up. She never
enjoyed high school, maybe because she felt like she had to do certain
things to fit in, peer pressure. No, it was not her peers' fault, she was
always in a hurry to grow up. She was always in a hurry to grow up. She
never enjoyed her life after high school, maybe it was because she was a
single mother on welfare. Well, she was always in a hurry to grow up.

My birthday’s coming up again. G-d, I wish it wasn’t. I hate this
time of year! I can’t figure out why birthdays are supposed to be so
special. They always make me depressed.
>We are in a restaurant. We are seated in a brown leather booth. I eat my
meal happily. The dessert is my favorite part: an ice cream sundae, a
special treat for my birthday. I am seated in between my mother and my
father and we are all smiling.
>I can picture it so clearly. When ever I think about my birthday this scene
enters my mind. It never happened though. I must have dreamed it up. My
parents got divorced so long ago that I don’t have any memories of living
with my father. It’s unrealistic to think that I could have had a birthday
dinner like the one I envision so often. It’s just not possible. Nothing I
want seems possible and I don’t want half of what I have.
>I have a step-family: my mother’s husband and his son and daughter. I don’t
mind my stepfather too much, but his kids… Words can’t describe the anguish
they cause me.
>There was a time when I wouldn’t have friends come over because once my
stepbrother was so horrible to one of my friends that he made her cry. Other
times I would cry myself to sleep listening to them fight and swear at each
other in the hallway right outside of my room.
>It’s really not as bad as I make it seem, but I do not recommend this type
of life either.
>I also have another step-family: my dad’s wife and her daughters. I can’t
complain about them. They’re actually nice, but then again they live in
Ottawa so I hardly see them. We don’t have time to argue or fight.
>What I want is to spend my sixteenth birthday with both my mom and my dad,
but like I said before everything I want seems impossible. Now I have to
decide which parent I’m going to spend my birthday with. How can they make
me choose between my mother and father? It’s impossible but it’s a choice I
have to make.
>So you see every time January 19th roles around I become very upset. I get
this feeling of anger inside of me at each annual birthday dinner and end up
storming upstairs in tears. I can’t remember a birthday when I didn’t cry. I
don’t know why I react this way. There are so many feelings inside of me
which words don’t do justice to. For some mysterious reason all these
feelings get stronger as my birthday approaches. I should be happy I
survived another year, but I’m not. Instead I await my birthday trying to
guess what will go wrong this year. I don’t blame my parents though. It’s
not their faults; they don’t know how I feel. I can only blame myself for
not telling them.
>The point is I really hate my birthday. I hate it so much that sometimes
when I go to sleep the night before I wish to never wake up. It’s awful when
death seems more appealing than life, but what do I care? It’s my day and I
can spend it crying in my room if I want to.
>While some people use their birthdays to be the center of attention I
prefer to hide in the shadows and dwell on how horrible my life seems. After
all, if I want to get it right there’s always next year.

       Whispering over the land
  Caressing each blade of grass
Like an angel’s breath

Swimming through the rigid
    Oak branches on a crisp autumn night
             Gliding over the dew tipped meadows
      Swaying softly as the wind blows
     Reaching out to neighboring towns
   Where the soft glow of a candle on the sill
          Flickers hesitantly
           And she blows a kiss
             Leaving dew on the pane

She whistles as she glides
     Over the highway
 blurring  Her surrounding into
Non-recognizable, indistinguishable forms
 And causing a sense of panic to the mortal drivers
 Who slow pausing to gaze in horror and apprehension
 At her wide-open arms as they  Engulf the automobiles in a whir  Of blank
                       Thick
              Foreboding
                           Miasma

          She skims over the sea
              Flying like the gulls
        High above the white-capped peaks of water
              As they strive to grasp hold
               Of her silken white veil
         Which streams behind her
           As she carries herself smoothly
       Leaving only a light
                 Vanilla lilac
                            Haze



           Flowing now over the ascending landscape,
         A landscape roughly drawn
            By a lazy hand with jagged peaks
And sharp declines
         Spiraling with the night air,
          She dances with the shadows as the
                  Moonlight illuminates her regal figure
                Tottering on the high cliffs,
            Daring to test the breeze of the wide-open bay
                            Discarding a light mist

              Promptly sailing over the deserts,
                Never feeling the heat of the dry
                         Scorching air
         She sings
                                      Softly at first
      Then escalating to an astounding crescendo
                 And becoming quiet once more
               She leaves no trace of her existence
             No trace but the slight dousing
                   Of the desert air

               She is the mist
                            The vapor
               The haze,

                               Fog

Do you think it could be the same again?
Forget about our past, move on with our lives,
   Be my best friend again?
Each day I see, each day I know
  that apologies and regrets,
   so seldomly show.
You turn away as I walk by.
Ignore my presence.
Don't bother to say "hi".
The words you say behind my back don't
  hurt as much as your silence.
But at least I know you think of me,
  though your glares associate violence.
What can I do or what can I say?
  I'm sorry, I miss you, I love you
    please stay?
Best friends forever or so we thought.
  Love and the fun times you brought.
The times we had and the secrets we would share.
How can you throw it all away
 Don't you see that I care?
Best friends forever is all I want to be,
 But things will never change
At least I know you think of me.

They told me I'd be different
That I was destined for something great

But little did they know
'Cause being great was not my fate

They told me not to listen
To what the other kids said about drugs

I figured this was true
Since most of those kids were thugs

They were proud of me, they said
For doing what was right

I smiled at their praise
Beamed with delight

But then my friends got interested
In the other kids' style of life

The kids tried to get me to join in
And invited me to a party that night

At first I shook my head
And fervently told them no

But after thinking it over
I thought maybe I should go

I walked alone to the party
And carefully opened the door

I then heard some kids screaming
A lot of them were on the floor

I walked forward slowly
Wondering what this could be

Then I head a gun go off
And felt a bullet hit me

I collapsed to the ground
My blood pouring everywhere

This was what happens when kids get high?
Why oh why did I care?

It's getting hard to breath now
My life is slipping fast

I realize I'm going to die now
This breath may be my last

If only I had listened
To what my family said

I might be home with them now
Instead of being dead.

A vacant window sill waits
there is no bird to occupy
the cries of the heavens go unheard
as the birds do not fly

As so God's will may be unclear
God's people left to stumble
people lie, cheat, steal, kill
we trip on life's surprises and tumble

We all drive down a winding road
the light is hazy at the end
we blindly squint for answers
our tires screech at every bend

As so life goes on
we bellow like boys instead of MEN
but when our last day is upon us
we are still not ready for The End

This kind of fear is a pounding chest pain, sick to your stomach,
about to throw up feeling because she was real.
Of course it's not possible, but it happened.
First is was Mrs. Curly in the lodge.
Pink boa, stilettos and attitude.  Then, it was Mrs. Curly in a casket,
"shades" leaning over.
Bleached blonde Oakleys, never met at the final destination.
It never happened, it couldn't.
But it did.
Why can I imagine every action, every scream, every gash.  I wasn't
even there.
It's been a year but everyone was there.
It's been a month, but no one told me.
How can you say "was" when she "is"?  How dare you keep it from me.
This didn't happen to a person that I know.
She was real.
This is real.
She is gone.
Am I the only one that seems this way? No one was connected like me.
But I wasn't even there a year ago.  She hardly even knows me.  I
wonder if she ever knew my name.
This is not happening.
This is gone.

You say I have a lot to learn,
there's so much I haven't seen.
I should wait for my life to
take it's turn.
After all, I'm only thirteen.
     You say I can't know what love is yet,
I'm still so young and pure.
I know I've seen what love can be,
that I know for sure.
You say I'm to young to make good choices,
to be trusted on my own.
You say our opinions have no voices,
our ideas are not to be known.
Truth is we can stand for ourselves,
or work together as a team.
Even if we're still "so young",
only a mere thirteen.
     Trust is keeping bad things away,
and keeping good things true.
Love is finding someone you care for,
and someone who cares for you too.
Life is taking chances,
and never looking back.
All while keeping on top of things,
and never loosing track.
I already know who I am,
and who I want to be.
But hell, how much can I know, I'm
still only thirteen.

To be made a goddess,
Set upon your golden thrown,
Your celestial and your soul’s idol,
That I should have doubted
That the stars are fire,
Truth to be a liar,
But never doubt your love.
But the best safety lies in fear.
For in my sad state,
The lips of the finest make,
Claim I am a breeder of sinners,
Praying to a god,
Who loved me not.
That which mine eyes barely reach’d,
Now like sweet bells, jangled,
Out of time and harsh,>But a feast for such ecstasy
T’have seen what I have seen,
See what I see!
Nay, he is dead and gone,
     Dead and gone,
At his heels a stone;
This phrase of sorrow
Conjures not the wondering star,
To make it stand like a wonder-wounded hearer.
Young men will do’t if they come to’t,
And you,
You, my good lord,
Are nothing but a dream.
Woo’t weep?  Woo’t tear thyself?
But I am tired and shut my eyes,
Must sleep,
And exit the scene.

I remember practicing in the basement.
The amps we broke, and the money we spent
I remember the energy and the hope
We fought, we made up, we wrote, we created
I remember the van, full of all the junk we had
Every possession; ourselves. It was for us.
Going out on the road, just trying to find…
Somebody to take five minutes and listen.
Thirty kids in a basement, fighting for air
I’ll never fight for that crowded air again
Not after this. It’s just changes. Changes…hmm…
I owe myself one. The basement. Van. Kids. Air.

(He motions to the record producer to hand him the contract. The record
producer smiles a grim smile and hands the boy the blood-tipped dagger
stained with the good intentions of songs and singers past. The man’s hand
moves back into his pocket, reeking of the foul cash stench that has claimed
so many souls. The air is thick with the man’s anticipation. As the boy
signs the contract with the dagger, he signs with his own blood; the dagger
draws blood from his fret board hand. His good intentions stain the
contract, the dagger. The record producer just smiles his little smile and
takes the dagger back, not bothering to wipe off the fresh blood, and slips
it into the pocket of his freshly pressed designer suit. The last victim is
tallied into Billboard’s weekly statistics.)

I am drowning
>Help me, please
>I can't breathe
>No, not drowning
>I am being suffocated
>By everyone
>The words hurt me
>I am bruised by the things they say
>I am being drowned
>I know I shouldn't let things like that bother me
>But I am drowned in a sea of words
>That hit me, kill me
>I have no release
>No escape
>Help
>I cannot breathe
>As I fall deeper I hear the words
>The words of friends that hurt me so
>How could they say these things?
>Smothered by the words and thoughts
>That invade my mind
>Paranoia sets in
>Everything is spinning round and round
>Into the black hole I have fallen into
>It kills me to hear the words
>Why must I listen?
>Can't I get away?
>Spinning dizzily in the words
>The pain is unbearable
>Yet I am still drowning
>I ask
>Help me please
>No help comes
>I fall deeper and deeper
>Into the abyss
>Hell must be like this
>Like suffocating
>Drowning
>Falling forever
>Hurt by the relentless
>Pain of words
>Oh, the words
>Eternally drowning in those painful words

I look at the sky.
I see a big smile on your face.
It is devouring all of my pain.
I remember you know, and will never forget.
Those times that we shared - they do not make me regret.

I wish I were with you, but you are so far away.
I wish you were here - laughing with me today.

I wish I could see you -
Just one last time.

I will never say goodbye to you, you have never really left me.
You are so divine.

They say that it is over -
But it has not yet begun.
One day I will see you, once again.

My heart warms when I think of the day,
When you and I will be laughing once again.

Whether that day will come soon or not -
I do not know.
But you are always in my heart - in my very soul.
I love you grandpa.

I am but a vile servant
a solitary shadow that has nothing better to do than darken
I bow out of courtesy, attentive of your supremacy
and am left puzzled by a moment of light
our eyes catch a glimpse
our unspoken words sing a glorious song
for a moment i fall into an unparallel world of sweet bliss and glimmering
stars
for one moment......for only one moment

It was the big night before her Prom. No matter how much she didn't
want to go, she had too. For she was going to be Prom Queen. The very
thought of it made her sick to the stomach.
>She had always been pretty, popular, smart, athletic and in one word -
perfect. Everyone envied her. She knew it, but she didn't understand it, not
one bit. How could she be envied by others when she hated herself.
>Even though she knew this Prom wasn't compulsory to other people, it was
to her. People expected her to show up, in a beautiful dress, with Greg
(a.k.a Mr. Popular) in her arm. Her looking like his trophy. They expected
her to get "Queen of the Prom."
All she wanted to be was normal. Whatever that was.
At exactly six O'clock there was a knock at the door. It was Greg. She
finished putting on her lippy and walked down, breathing deeply in her
stunning, figure hugging lavender dress.
She walked down the stairs, and sure enough her Mum and Dad were there, and
Greg of course, smiling. Her Mum was the first to reach her and hug her.
"Oh honey, you look stunning, beautiful." She shirked, as she wiped a tear
from her eye.
>Yes Baby, your just....just perfect" Her Dad piped up.
Then Greg came up to her and kissed her on her lips. Four months ago his
lips use to send shivers up her spine, now it just felt like nothing. She
was nothing anymore. Even her and Greg had become nothing.
Everything was so fake around her. Her Mum crying, her Dad smiling along
with Greg. In her "perfect" house just to make her "perfect" life one bit
better.
Fake Fake Fake. The word screamed around her, like the wind did on a
winter's day. She felt she had it written all over her face.
Greg took her by the arm as he wiped her blonde hair of her face.
"Let's go or else we will be late"
"Sure, whatever Greg" As she prayed this night would go fast.
After a few smiles for the camera they were off. Together, Greg and her.
Even those three words together didn't do anything for her anymore.
"Smile would you. This is our biggest night of our lives" Greg spat out.
So she did. She only wished one day she would meet someone that realized
she wasn't smiling. The only thing that was doing it was her muscles. She
couldn't remember what it was like anymore to giggle at a joke, or scream
with so much joy from running in the rain. Simple things. She didn't even
have that anymore. She didn't smile with her eyes so her whole face lit up,
her heart didn't smile....
She pitied the girls who envied her....

“We, the jury of the United States, hereby declare Amanda Jane
Gellar, also known as the ‘Mummy killer,’ to a death sentence due to take
place in two years and four months.  No bail or appeals.”  The judge slammed
his mallet down against the wooden panel.
FLASH
 “We can get you out of this,” her lawyer, John Grief was saying.  His
brown suit was mussed, although it had been crisp a few hours ago.  He
tugged on his buzz cut beard, usually neat and surrounding his mouth, but
now overgrown.  “We will get you out of this,” he said determined.
FLASH
 On a stretcher.  Being rolled down an isle.  Flashes of her life passing
through her mind.  Her usually neat dark hair tossed disdainfully about her.
Her ordinarily made up face, cleansed of all make up.  A burly man walking
down the isle near her, a briefcase in hand.  She knew what was in that
briefcase.  Her murder weapon.  The lethal injection.
 FLASH
 “STOP!!!”  An overweight man in a jogging suit ran down the same hall she
was in moments earlier.  His bald head glistened with sweat.  “The judge is
giving her another chance.  Here are her release permissions.  Get her out
of the trolley!”
 FLASH
 “This will hurt,” the bald man from the hall was saying.  He was her
doctor.  Now he was in a surgical coat, not his sweat suit.  In his hand he
held a needle that looked more like a syringe.  It was blunt and oval and
about a foot long.  He was going to insert an implant under her skin on her
left forearm.  John held her arm straight and firm.  Roger, her doctor,
plunged the implant into her skin, yet she did not cry out.  A small wince
flashed on her face for the barest of seconds, but not a trace of it was
left.  “It will scar,” Roger said yanking the needle out.

FLASH
Painkillers.  A lot of them.  Rainbow pills in the bathroom cabinet.
Everywhere.

FLASH
In the courtroom, feeling sluggish, seeing Brianna with Sasha, her sister.
 FLASH
“We, the jury of the United States, proclaim Amanda Jane Gellar fit enough
to live with her daughter, Brianna Ann Gellar, as long as her implant is in
her arm, and in effect, and her sister, Sasha Jessie Gellar, is her ‘watcher
’.

 Amanda shot up straight in bed, her mind whirling.  The events of the past
couple of years had just come together in her now nightly dream.  She sat up
in bed letting her black tresses tumble down her back.  Her china blue eyes
penetrated the dark as she thought about what her perfect five-year-old
daughter, Brianna, had told her the previous evening.
“Mummy, I am not getting the outstanding student of the year award this
year,” Brianna had said, her warm muffin brown eyes avoiding her mum’s hard
stare.
“Why not?”  Amanda had asked.
“My teacher, Mrs. Nuevo, thinks that because I get it every year, I should
give someone else a turn this year.  I said it was okay, she wants to give
it to someone who has improved greatly this year,” Brianna explained, daring
to look at her mother.  Her denim overalls and flowered tee shirt were still
neatly pressed from the morning.  Her auburn curls were captured in two
pigtails and had remained neat and brushed all day.
Amanda had nodded seriously.  She had pretended it was perfectly fine with
her when Sasha had come in the room.
‘They don’t know.”  Amanda thought gleefully under her elegant comforter in
bed.  ‘They don’t know it was me electrocuting the janitor for denying
Brianna a turn under the sprinkler.  They don’t know it was I who killed my
other babies because they were not perfect.  They were either too red, or
didn’t have enough hair, or were too wrinkly, but Brianna was perfect.
Those husbands had to go to, as the boyfriends.  They were too confining.
We’ll see what happens to Mrs. Nuevo…’
>In the next room Sasha lay awake in her bed.  Her blonde crimped hair
spread out on the pillow like a curtain, and her glassy emerald eyes blinked
lazily.  ‘It’s not fair,’ she thought carelessly. ‘ Amanda got all that
attention for killing people.  I could do that, how hard could it be?  What
about that teacher, the one who deprived Brianna of the award?  It would
seem as if Amanda did it and then me and Brianna would live all by
ourselves, like it’s supposed to be.’  Gaily, with those thoughts, she
closed her eyes, with those thoughts, and went into a deep slumber.
>Thunder rumbled outside, lightning flashed, trees quivered, and wind
rattled at doors and windows, like unwavering police officers trying to get
in.  Inside the classical suburban home of the three Gellar females, it was
a frenzied mess.  Sasha was late for work, couldn’t find her shoes, in a
ghastly spirit, and her mother had arrived.
Amanda was her typical unruffled, unimpressed self.  She herself had a sour
disposition that morning, and was resentfully sitting with her mother.
Brianna, the only one in good spirits was dressed and in the kitchen making
breakfast.  Since the age of two and a half it had been her job to oversee
that everyone had their morning meal.  Inside the oak country-style kitchen,
dressed in a white blouse, a deep green skirt, which made her eyes look even
more gracious, white tights, and black dress shoes, she was trying to reach
for the bowls.  Someone had placed them too far up for her to reach and she
couldn’t risk stepping on the counter as the soles of her shoes could
germinate it.  Her tiny hand, she may have been five, but she was
particularly petit for her age, reached higher and higher. It caught onto
the shelf and she extended it even more until she felt the cool glass under
her hand.  She tugged on the china and at the same moment the thunder
exploded frightening her.  Crash!  Everything came tumbling down, and landed
on the neat marble floor, destroyed. As she cowered on the marble, she could
hear the click-clacking !
of her mothers heels getting closer and closer, the shuffling of her
grandmothers heels accompanying them, and far behind, Aunt Sasha’s pattering
of bare feet, as she ran to the kitchen.
“What is the meaning of this?”  Amanda coolly inquired.  Not a trace of
emotion was in her professional, clean voice.
“Calm down, dear, I’m sure it was an accident.  Wasn’t it, baby?”  Jessamyn
Gellar asked gently.  She was in her 60s with violet eyes, and soft, bouncy
white hair that was up in a ponytail.  For her age she was highly energetic
and fit, and had no noticeable wrinkles.  The entire town knew her and
respected her, and she made frequent visits to the school.  “We can get this
cleaned up in no time, Amanda you make the breakfast and Sasha you help me
clear this china.  Brianna, go answer the door, make sure you ask who it is,
first.”
>Gratefully, Brianna strode to the front door.  Dutifully, she asked who it
was, when she got no reply, she turned to her aunt who had followed her
there.  Sasha yanked the door open and slammed it shut again when she saw no
one was there.  Heading back into the kitchen, Sasha told her sister that
she had to drop Brianna to school that day.  “It’s a waterfall out there,”
she groused, sitting on the kitchen table to consume her cereal.  A normal
breakfast would have been French toast or omelets, but Amanda didn’t have
the cooking dexterity Brianna did.  During breakfast, Sasha made a point of
telling her mother about the award Brianna was deprived from.  Jessamyn gave
no reaction to any of this news, but her mind registered it.
>After eating their breakfast, everyone headed to the garage.  The garage
was tidier than most garages.  Everything was on shelves or hooks or in a
small fenced of area if it had to be on the floor.  Sasha headed into her
little midnight blue Honda sports car bidding everyone farewell.  Brianna
went into the backseat of the white, family-sized Toyota, waving bye to her
grandmother and aunt.  Amanda, having perched her black DKNY sunglasses on
her head went into the front seat of that car, tossing her head in a goodbye
to her mother she backed out into the dark, wet, and gloomy street, and
spend towards Brianna’s school.  The ride was taken in complete silence..
Not a word was said, and Brianna sat with her ankles crossed and her hands
folded in her lap, looking intently, longingly, into the other cars where
brothers and sisters were talking and laughing with their parents on the way
to school.  Arriving at the sheltered entrance, Brianna took her backpack
pecked her mother’s ch!
>eek, and backed out of the car mutely.
>Once inside the school building, Brianna headed for her classroom on the
first floor, the lightning flashed occasionally, lighting up the usually dim
hallway.  Most parents of children her age came all the way inside to drop
their kids.  Brianna greeted her teacher, who had become almost a surrogate
mother to her, hung her backpack on her hook, and sat, primly upon her seat.
>The day was fairly uneventful, and boring, although Brianna loved it, as
she loved every other day at school.  She didn’t have any friends, but she
loved the safe, cozy feeling the school gave, which her home lacked.  In the
afternoon, her neighbor, Erin, came to collect Brianna and her own daughter.
“Hi, Brianna!  Your mother couldn’t make it, and your aunt and grandmother
were also busy.  I’ll take you home, and I’ve got your key, you mother says
you’ll be able to fix yourself an afternoon snack, ok?”
>Before Brianna had a chance to reply, she was whisked away, she quickly
turned and hugged Mrs. Nuevo goodbye tightly, as if it was the last time she
would ever see her.  Then she pivoted and scurried down the hall after Erin.
>Bemused, Mrs. Nuevo shook her head and headed back into her quiet, empty
classroom.  As she tidied up she thought to herself about what a lovely
child Brianna was, although her mother was a definitely very strange.  Oddly
calmed by the storm, she got wrapped up in her grading.
>A lady in a business suit and sunglasses, with her long, soft tresses
spread out on her shoulders got into her car.  Her high heels clicked
against the side as she slung her legs into the car.  Her glassy eyes stared
out at the road, her mind spiraling with thoughts, as she sped towards the
school.
>‘Depriving my baby of the award she deserves.  What has she done to deserve
that?  That Hispanic Pagan will pay… with her life.  My whole life has been
seeing to her needs, those other offspring weren’t perfect, only this one
was, I let her live and it proved well.  How should I take her offering?
Skin her alive like I did Jake, the first baby, and then burn her?
Alternatively, should I offer her piece-by-piece, finger by finger to the
Gods?  Either way it will be virtuous.  The Old Ones will enjoy her warm,
good-doing heart.
>She pulled up at the school and got out of the car.  The hallway was dark,
sporadically being lit up eerily, by the jagged lightning.  The only sound
that could be heard was the wind howling continually, like a wolf baying at
the moon, and the click clacking of her heels.
>Mrs. Nuevo was packing up to leave when she heard the sound of high heels
on linoleum.  She sighed dejectedly when someone knocked on her door.  “Come
in,” she called, setting her briefcase down.  When one of Brianna’s
guardians walked in, she invited her to have a seat.
>“What seems to be on your mind, Mrs. Gellar?”  She asked politely.
>“I’m concerned about Brianna,” the lady responded.  “She seems quieter, and
less focused lately.  In addition, she didn’t get the Outstanding Student of
the Year award this year.  I don’t know who to blame over it,” the polished
women continued.
>   “Brianna is doing very well, much better than any of the other
 students,” Mrs. Nuevo said comfortingly.
>“Then why didn’t-”
>“She did not receive the outstanding award this year, because she has
gotten it every year since she started school, and I felt someone else
should have the chance,” Mrs. Nuevo interrupted.
>“Well,” Mrs. Gellar’s voice was getting noticeably more ominous, as she
inched closer to the teacher.  “I don’t think I can have that.”
>“What do you mean?”  Mrs. Nuevo asked nervously.  “You can’t sue me for not
giving an award to your daughter, it’s inhumane.”
“Not lawsuits,” the Satan worshiper whispered, sliding a knife out of the
handbag.
“No!  Please!  No!”  Mrs. Nuevo’s screams could be heard echoing down the
empty, deserted hallway. The last things she saw before she plunged into the
dark light were the evil, violet eyes.

Darkness,
Rolls across the waves,
Millions of cubic miles of water,
Illuminated by the moon.

Casting Shadows,
Like giant predators,
Terrifying, when you’re alone.

You feel petty,
Besides the ocean,
Insignificant.

Your own smallness,
Your own utter weakness,
Like a weight in your chest.

The ocean,
Is not the enemy,
It just doesn’t care,

It feeds you
It makes the oxygen you use to breathe,
If you get careless, it kills you.

Nothing you can say will stop the ocean.
No mercy can be begged
No deals can be made.

If you push your limits,
It will crush you,
Smother you.

Like being suffocated,
Only worse.
Pressure,

That makes
Your insides explode,
Your exterior cave in.

The ocean,
The most powerful thing,
On earth

I was barely twelve-years-old, and yet old enough to wait by myself
for my mother to come pick me up from Berkeley.  The wait was long; she had
an hour’s worth of driving to do to come get me.  The heat of the sun’s
beating summer rays pressed down on me, as I sat wearing pedal pushers that
revealed the fuzz-hair on my recently-shaven legs.  Shaving.  That recent
enterprise that seemed to further push me into the claws of womanhood, that
and the brassiere.  Breasts.  Womanhood.  And I was just twelve.  The smell
of organic vegetarian Mexican burritos mixed with the aroma coming from
underneath my arms.  Puberty brings her sweet perfumes to those who don’t
ask.  I sat kicking my leg so that my mini-backpack would bounce in rhythm
off the tip of my shoe.  Inside the bag, my wallet with its five-dollar bill
jumped up, and down, up, and down.
Deciding that it couldn’t be that hard to order a fresh macrobiotic
non-genetically-engineered nacho from a teetering concession stand, I got up
and with a sigh, started my twenty-meter journey.  Quickly, I reminded
myself the best way to avoid any possible embarrassment, harassment
(anything with the syllable “rass” in it) was to look at the ground; look
only at the ground.  Not at the feet, because then you’d forget they were
your own and fall.  For starters, following my own rule, I barely got off
the bench without tripping.  The old man without the leg on the wheelchair
(who probably saw eight million people die in Vietnam and thus was suffering
from that and the government’s refusal to admit that he was carrying their
child,) was making his daily rounds in the garbage bins.  I averted my eyes
from the ground to take a peek, maybe hoping there was something in the
garbage can I could grab, instead of continuing the perilous journey to
culinary enlightenment.  He snarled.  Missing teeth and women’s clothing added to the pile of rags that clothed
him.  Mistake.  Eyes back on the concrete.  Never look up.  The sun will
either blind you, or someone will look straight back at you, peering with
perverted eyes into your very self.  And my twelve-year-old self didn’t want
anyone looking at or into her.  She refused to be yet another boy-crazed
Barbie bimbo.  She had thoughts, deep thoughts.  She was deep.  I was deep.
Achieving some equilibrium, I made my way to the yuppie-hippie stand.  My
head reached the counter and mumbled something about “I’ll have, uh, the,
uh, Nacho, uh, number 75.”  “What?”  The man’s pectorals seemed to be
liberating themselves from his small white shirt, their prison.  Eyes down.
“75.”  “What?”  Eyes up, for a teensy-weensy second.  He wasn’t even
listening.  Little droplets of sweat drizzled down the sides of his tanned
face.  He looked like the kind of person that had sex.  He looked like the
kind of person that had sex and was good at it.  Jesus should have looked
like that.  His name probably was José, too, I thought.  A muscular wet
Latino.  “Um, the 29, ya, 29.”  “OK, money is three and two five.”  Eyes
down again, only this time trying to take off, open, and look through the
mini-backpack without falling over.  After momentary coordination-confusion,
I handed him a crinkled Lincoln.  He snatched it, leaving testimony of his
sweat on my returned change.  It! was damp.  Shoving the cash into my bag, I grabbed the Zen food.
Spirituality had infested everything in the Student Union, even Mexican
food.  What she forgot, ecstasy remembered for her.
>I hurried back to my little spot on the bench, hearing the rhythms of the
steel drums coming from down the avenue, once again wrestling with myself to
make my mini-backpack less clumsy.  Breasts.  They got in the way.  I was
supposed to have apples, not watermelons.  I’d look down and two massive
globs of fat would greet me.  They seemed to thrust themselves forward, as
if seeking adulation from the world, protruding for attention.  They got in
the way.  Frontal ass.  I wanted nothing to do with sexuality.  I was more
than that.  I was deep.  And they were more than just an invitation; they
were walking advertisements.  I looked up to see how much closer I was to my
bench.  Mistake, again.  In my narrowness of sight, I caught a glimpse of a
man with a big cowboy-looking-but-not hat mouth something at me.  My focus
quickly spun.  In my confused state, wanting to get to my bench and wanting
to remember exactly what he had mouthed at me, I stumbled in an airhead walk
to my corner!
>..  With my maturing-plum-bottom finally parked, I collapsed inside.  I
could look up now.  Mistake, again.  The man with the pimp hat was walking
towards me.  I froze.  The fuzz on my legs must have magically penetrated
themselves into the small holes in stone bench or gravity was pulling even
harder on my numerous fruits.  Eyes down.  But puberty’s newfound interest
in attention was damning me to look up.  I did.  The cornucopia toppled.  My
inner child went running around in circles looking for its mommy.
>“Hello.”  The static grainy “l” in his greeting seemed to drip off his
tongue forever.  Opening my mouth without thinking I let out a “hi.”  What
was I doing?  Minute black hairs plotted the outline of his chin.  My eyes
set themselves on these dots, for big black lenses replaced his eyes.  The
open third button on his white blouse revealed a bush of more black foliage.
Hidden beneath the mass, something was glittering.  Gold?  He placed his
hand right next to my thigh, making a “clink” on the concrete with his
rings.  My eyes shot down then back at the little dots.  Pimp? “How chu
doing?”  The little child in me stopped running and realized that mommy was
nowhere in sight.  It grabbed the nearest pillar to my stomach and started
screaming.  But my conscious being was deaf.  “Fine.”  I wanted to slap the
brat.  No, the child in me wasn’t frightened.  Rather, I think it was trying
to find something to grab onto.  It was scuttling around trying in vain to
gather its belongings.!
>  It didn’t want to be robbed.  “So, what chu doin’ on dis lovuh-ly
aftah-noon?”  It stopped grasping my stomach, and started beating on my
chest.  I blushed, thinking that the whole world could hear the tantrum
going on inside me.  Whatever embarrassment was hidden by my caramel
complexion.  “Uh, just got out of class.”  Then it stopped.  The child gave
up.  Instead, whimpering, it snuck back into the base of my neck, lifting my
hairs.  It hid, but tried to understand what was going on.  Where were these
responses coming from?  My eyes crept up to the big black pits that replaced
his eyes, only to find themselves in the reflection, and quickly returned to
the spots of hair.  “Yew go ta school here?”  “Only during the summer.”
“What’s ya name?”  The child slid all the way down my spine, scratching her
fingernails so that I could hear the ringing agony.  “Je..Jessica.”  I had
saved myself.  Believable lie.  “Well, Jessica, dat is one pretty name and
chu one bewdeeful lady.”  T!
>he child passed out.  I was partially grateful for its quick exit, but now
the fuzz on my legs had stood up.  “Thank you.”  Who was this calm person
speaking for me?  “Yanno, Jessica, I have dis wondah-ful club in de city,
ever been dere?”  “SF?  Uh-huh.”  “Well I run dis joint in Mission, here’s
mah card.”  He handed me this small blue card, bordered with cabaret lights.
I grabbed it from the end so as to not touch the ends.  “Stop by anytime.
Ask ta see me, gurl, and I’ll get yew in free.”  Moment of silence.  Thank
god the child is gone.  “So where chu goin’ ta college?”  My nerves began
dragging the child to a safer resting spot.  There was no attempt to
resuscitate it.  “Uh, I’m, uh, only in high school.”  Believable lie number
two.  So much for nonchalant invisible speaker, the “uh” had come out..  “How
old are you?”  “Uh, fifteen.”  Believable lie number three.  Three years.  I
should have aimed higher.  Now I’d done it.  Gone and embarrassed him.
“Fifteen!”  Moment of silence number two.  “I thought chu at least twenty-one!”  The child’s
heartbeat returned.  Convulsions.  My eyes dropped to the floor.  Only they
didn’t meet with the floor.  Breasts had to destroy the view.  The fuzz on
my legs was now bending backwards.  “Well…”  He placed his hand on my thigh.
The child didn’t scream.  The gesture was more paternal than the previous
motive of the conversation had been.  “Why don yew give da card to yo
fadder, and in five years, yew can come to mah club, see mah name up in duh
big lights, ‘n tell your freenz, ‘Dat man tried to hit on me when I was only
fifteen!’”  He let out a grainy course crackling wheeze.  Laugh?  I smiled.
“Well…I’ll see yew lataz, got to go get mo peoples to dish da scrilla.”
Another wheeze.  My eyes were still stuck on the Jell-O canteens before
them.  A screeching noise on the pavement yanked them back up.  The
wheelchair guy was making yet another round.  Garbage can yielded nothing..
I looked at him.  No mistake.  The hand had left my leg.  Trying to find it, I returned my gaze to
the black pits.  But he was gone.  It had left too.  I couldn’t find the
child.  It, she, was gone.

Sprawled across an inner floor,
>Time knocks at my mind’s door,
Reminding me of the lost spent,
Too earthly to reinvent.

For in want of divinity,
I met Lady Catastrophe.
My eye reveals its own eternity.
By seeing the destruction now that is me,
 I cannot let what is to be – Be.
I stayed awake
In fear
Of a sun that always rises;
Consistency : Treason.
Action has lost its course of reason.
For –
In my quest to awaken you,
I fell asleep;
I lost me

The future,
my rapture does await.
For the fairest prospect rests its head,
Little above my reach, just around the corner.
In olive eyes, does lie this bliss.
Pure grandeur, all about her.
And stumbling into the beautiful unknown,
My guard has fallen, my heart laid bare.
With all I am, sacrificed for better.
Vowing I could never regret.
Then letting go the sail of my soul,
to watch fate's cryptic wind conduct.
Tales of beautiful dreams, whisper in my ear.
Songs of the sweetest surrender.
My morrows are bathed in lucid promise.
Each day sweeter,
in olive eyes.

I look to a distant strange looking creature that walks up closer as
I move
It looks so sad and almost eerie, with yet so much to prove
The figure touches its face making sure that its real
the hardening of its heart the only thing it feels
I ask the man a question from deep within myself "Why do you look so sad, I pray thee please do tell"
the figure never said a word, its form still fragile and frail
the creatures lips trembled slightly, as I still gained no reply
I asked my question yet again but still it did not comply
I a tear fell downward from my eye, the figure cried itself
The figure motioned with its lips "Why am I on this shelf..
So locked away and hidden beneath this foolish facade
I remember the days of old when everything drew applaud
yet still I sit still never seen as the mask around grows tight
the simpleness of yesterday now lost within the fight"
the figure shook its head in disbelief and fell another tear
the figure raised its head in shock at what he had to hear
the school bell resounded loudly, and slowly grew clearer,
and I decided it was time, to walk away from the mirror

My life is a mess.
No where to go.
Stuck in a hole.
No way  to get out.

The pain is to strong
And i am to week.
To week to go on,
To week to stay strong.

My stomach in knots.
My heart on the floor.
Been used and broken ,
But that was before.

Before i was like this ,
Broken and scared.
Of love ,
Of life ,
Of pain ,
 Of fear.

Can i go home ?
 Back where i was ?
When life was so simple ,
 With God up above !

The morning came with the sun a glow,
And the birds let out their joyous notes.
I woke and began my usual school day,
everything was normal, with nothing out of place.
She came to me with a cloud of sadness following overhead.
"He died this morning" was all Mom said.
I swallowed hard confused and distraught,
Shaking my head, I tried to remove the thought.
My eyes began to rain down tears,
Dripping memories of all the happy years.
He's the only Grandpa I ever knew or had.
A mixtures of emotions, relieved, upset, even mad...
For now I'll try to hold back the sobs,
And stand up tall with all the strength I've got.
Cuz I know he's looking down on me,
And that's the way he'd want it to be.
Remember all the laughter and all the smiles,
And how no mater his age, you could see his inner child.
Don't cry anymore, lift my head to the sky
You're in heaven now Grandpa, so it's just see you later...
not goodbye.

Tangled hair in her eyes
Wet lips and anticipation

Creamy skin reflection
beneath the matted tresses

When a young women's
whisper garden
(is empty) of such

soft conversation
She needs delicious dance of masculine healing and

*HIS*
silvered silence

A silver cord
is all that
holds me together.

It wraps around
and around my
entire body.

It pulls tighter
and tighter until
finally it snaps.

I go everywhere
at once but
I say nothing.

 Van Gogh's "Starry Night" is without a doubt a masterpiece. A
Priceless piece of art in many eyes.
   The way the stars in the sky depict the relationship between God and
Man. The village; the people who go in and out of their tiny buildings, and
whenever they take the time to glance to the heavens they are reminded of
God's protection, and love.
  BUT WHAT ABOUT OUTSIDE THE MUSEUM? WHAT ABOUT ME?!?!?!
   How often do I take the time to glance at your canvass, Lord? The
masterpiece you created?
   The thousands of stars in their PERFECT formations! The clouds as they
pass swiftly overhead, and the moon to whom time itself confides.
   But SO often I miss it! Why?...HOW?
   Pity! I keep my head down, trying to think of a place where problems are
scarce, and peace dwells.
   Little do I know that you painted such a place. A place that I can get
lost in, A place I can find you in. Where for just a moment I can put my
problems to rest to get lost in your presence.
   Your Glory and Peace, like a never ending cup! And ALL I have to do...

                    Is Keep My Head Up!

I feel like you can't see me,
even though you stare.
But that really doesn't matter,
Because I am not really there.
You think that if you ignore me,
I'll just go away.
But what you don't realize,
is how true that could be one day.
I seem to be all happy,
But that is all an act.
I hate myself, my life,
And that is a true fact.
I wish I could disappear,
Just go somewhere else.
Anywhere But Here.

As Michael Evans lay in bed, trying to fall asleep, he couldn't shake
the feeling that something bad was going to happen, or was happening. And
that feeling of foreboding was centered around one person. His best friend,
the girl he had had a secret crush on since 5th grade, Ariana Monroe.
 Michael and Ariana had been best friends since they were born. Their
parents had been best friends in high school and still were. In fact, the
two families were so close they bought houses across the street from each
other.
 Michael crept over to his window in the dark, not wanting to wake his
parents and have to explain what he was doing sitting in the dark at 2:00
AM. There was no way he could tell his parents that he was in love with his
best friend, the girl who was practically his sister, and that the reason he
was still awake, was because he was waiting to see when she got home from
her date with Brendan Davis.
>Michael had been sitting in his room, waiting to spy on Ariana when she
came home. What time would it be? Would he kiss her? Would she like it?
Those were the questions racing through Michael's head as he sat watch at
his window.
 At 2:15 he was getting worried. Ariana's curfew was midnight, but with her
parents out of town, she must have decided she could get away with all night
partying. But it wasn't like Ari to stay out this late, even when her
parents were gone on business. As the minutes slowly passed the feeling of
dread grew and grew. Something wasn't right. He knew it.
>Suddenly the phone rang. That is Ari, Michael thought. Calling me in the
middle of the night asking me to bail her out of some crazy situation. Of
course he would go get her. After all what were friends for?
 Just as he reached for the phone he heard his father answer the phone. Oh,
no Michael thought, looking at the time. The glowing clock read 2:22. His
father was not going to be happy.
 "Sure Ari, I'll go get him," Mr. Evans said into the phone. He knocked on
Michael's door, then walked in. "Phone's for you," he muttered, glaring at
his son.
>" Sup?" Michael asked, taking the phone from his dad, and motioning for
him to go back to bed.
>"Michael, I need to talk to you. This is urgent, ok?" Ariana said, her
voice sad.
 "Ok," Michael agreed.
 "Listen, there's something I need to tell you. I should have told you a
long time ago. I love you."
 Michael froze. Ariana just said she loved him! The words he had so longed
to hear from her.
 "I love you too, Ari," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Then "Where
are you? I didn't see you come home."
 "I'm on my way home," Ariana said, softly crying now. "I just had to stop
and call you, to tell you…. That I love you. I always have loved you. I
always will love you. And promise me something."
 "Anything," Michael said softly, the protectiveness he had felt for Ariana
his whole life showing now more then ever.
 "Promise me that you will never forget me."
 "I promise, I will never forget you."
 'Thanks, Mike. That means a lot, you don't know how much. Goodbye."
 "G'bye. I love you."
 "I'll love you forever." Then there was a click.
 Michael was still reeling from his strange phone call with Ariana that he
barely noticed when a police car pulled into Ariana's driveway. Then he
realized the police were there, and ringing the doorbell. He ran and got his
parents, who hurried across the street to speak with the officers.
 "The Monroe's are out of town. Is there anything I can do for you,
officer?" Michael's dad asked.
 "Are you able to reach them?" The police officer, whose badge identified
him as Officer Li asked them.
 "Yes, but why? Does this have anything to do with Ariana? She just called
my son a moment ago. Does she need us to bail her out of jail?"
 "I'm afraid she couldn't have just called your son a moment ago. Ariana
was in a car crash and died at 2:21 this morning. I'm so sorry."
 "No," Michael said. "Ariana did call me. I spoke with her. She said she
was going home and that she loved me."
 As he spoke the words, Michael understood what had happened. Ariana had
died in a car crash at 2:21. But as she left earth, on her way to heaven,
she found one last way to give him her final message.
 And just as he had promised Ariana he would never forget her. She might be
gone now, but she would live on forever in his heart.

If tomorrow shouldn't arrive, I would know I
loved you the best way that I knew how.
If tomorrow never arrived, I would not regret how
I felt for you; only for the fact that I never told you.
If tomorrow shouldn't arrive, I would wish that I had
more time to get to know myself and to have known you
were someone that I should have loved and trusted implicitly.
If tomorrow the sun does not dance across my face
and I do not find myself in the glow of love; I will regret
that I only had once chance before tomorrow was upon me
and I would be once again wishing that tomorrow
wouldn't arrive.

~December 9th, 2000

I open my eyes to another dawn.  I see the shadows cast on my bedroom
floor, the streaks of sunlight seeping through the blinds, the floating dust
forming rays of light.  I see the worn planks of wood, and the tattered rug
on which I hardly tread.  To the walls I glance. Blank spaces that reflect
the void of my battered soul.  The shade of peach that weeps of a lonely
night.  Miniscule cracks of unmaintained paint. I see on the table of oak a
burnt out candle.  Its wax, long-cooled, has flowed unto the table and down
to the floor.  An icicle of wax dangling off the edge.  The solid puddle
right below it.  I trace the wax back to its source, and chance upon a
fallen glass.  Tipped over unto its side, still rocking from a light breeze.
On the table-tops and on the floor, the stain of wine still visible.  The
shade of red is still apparent, as if it were blood.  Blood that gushed from
the heart that once knew love, life and meaning.  Now as dry as the stain on
my floor.  Only to be faded out by time.  A gust of wind blows through my window,
rolling the glass off the oak.  Falling through a seemingly endless space,
the piece of crystal glimmers its last.  I hear no sound as it is broken
into countless pieces, never to be rejoined.  As I am now. I see such beauty
destroyed and can no longer watch.  I shut my eyes and turn away.  A tear
flows down my cheek and unto the floor only to receive the same fate as the
now destroyed crystal.  Taken apart and stripped of its beauty.  As I am
now.  I roll over and hear the ruffling of my silk sheets.  I take a deep
breath and open my eyes once more.  Only to be greeted by the empty ceiling.
Cobwebs hanging of a rusted chandelier from which light once emanated.  I
close my eyes once more.  More tears stream down my cheek and unto my
sheets.  I raise my hand to weep.  I lift it and shield my face.  Shield it
from all the agony.  Shield it from my barren reality.  As my fingers run
down my face, a tinge of cold I feel on my nose.  I know what it is even as I lift my palm to look. It
is a ring.  A gold ring on my finger.  Her ring.  Its luster still bright,
the gleam of an old memory wished to be forgotten.  I remember the glint in
her eyes.  The manner in which she could look deep into me and give
reassurance that everything is going to be fine.  All without uttering a
word.  Even as she lay on that bed, drained of the life that once flowed
through her veins, she managed a smile.  I took her hand for the last time.
Leant over and gave it one last kiss.  Ran her fingers down my cheek and ran
mine down hers.  I squeezed her hand as she breathed her last and voiced her
final 'I love you.'  I cried, I sobbed and I wept.  I never let go.  I could
not.  I was now alone.  Alone with no one to love and to love me back.  I
will never stir from this bed.  It was her deathbed, I swear it will be
mine.

Tomorrow I will wake, to look upon that moment.
Tomorrow I will wake, begging I were with her.
Tomorrow I will wake, waiting for my last breath.
Tomorrow I will wake, hoping I had not wakened at all.

Your lips are as sweet
As buttermilk
Mixed with vanilla
But no sugar to bring out the flavor
You're not sweet
Not chocolate, milk or dark
You've got nothing to unwrap
No almonds in your middle
No surprises, you can't surprise me anymore
You're purely cruel
At first taste I was enthralled
But I've come to realized
You're only a sour coated candy
Inside out
I was mislead
I thought you'd be true to
Classic poetry
Your lips as sweet as candy
And they were
Until you gave them to every other girl
And the goodness was licked clean
Please give me a Hershey's kiss
To replace the real thing any day

What is in a fool?
Who laughs with gaping glory
For what notions of idle thought
Birthed into this world a horror
A filtered, bittered, hidden smile
That lips whose tips turn in knowing
An unknowing smirk on a fashioned face
Sculpted by a book in leather brown
Thrust into the hands of yet another
That rascal has his fools again found,
Can puppet them in his petting way
And put them in their proper place
One here, one there, in set and paired order
Feed them their dinners a Sunday
Pat them on their way, and kick them
In twisted sadness, mortal to mortal
Told of their innocent, dirty ways
Created to create that molded rule
That spreads and sprawls and spins one's head
Until once told tale mingles with another
That pours its vile across the pages
Swept with madness and believed with fervor
Thickening as laze engulfs the cloudy mind
Outstretched arms to their chimeric paradise
Rotting their brains in pursuit of god
Till never dawned fear becomes a reality
And common sense finds its laughing crowd
Silent faces pour down the crusty,
Gritty front cover of their leather brown
And watch as the candle sputters their light away.

Afraid
Alone
I’m falling
Failing
I know, I can tell
These waves overwhelm
They are not waves of water
They are of some unearthly substance
Are they magic
Or awe
Or air
A wind is blowing
The vent of it is on
How come only I can feel it
The pressure is so great
And so I sink
Or is it a dream
A la-la land fantasy
Day dreams
But why so real
Is it, is it love
But do we really know love
Maybe we never do, never will
Longings so real
Of imagination
Does love have to be sex
A laughing matter
When it is not
These things
Make love of something
That it should not be
We teach wrong, and yet
Punish those who dwell in evil
Why do we not punish ourselves
When we are the vandals
Is talent a discovery, an amazement
When we say we are all someone
But of course, we do not say
What we mean, ever
Or is that too strong to say
Ever, more then never
Walling forever
We can not see the infinite
When we ourselves are so small

When am I ever going to understand?
Will anything ever go right?
What do you do when everything seems together,
But in reality is all out of sight?

One small simple thing can go wrong,
And everything else seems to decline.
People tell me I'm not the only one with problems,
But nobody's seem to be worse then mine.

Guys sweet-talk me until they have me,
And when they do they have me for good.
I set myself up for failure,
Even though I promised myself I never would.

I fall for it every time,
And every time it seems to get worse.
Some people look at it as a weakness,
But I define it as a curse.

I always say the next time will be different,
That I'll wait until I find the right one.
But sometimes my mind plays tricks on me,
And before I know it the relationship is done.

God made a special someone for everyone,
Mine is out there waiting to be found.
And when we are finally together,
My confusion will be nothing more than a silent sound.