You asked me to write a love song,

instead, it came up short,

but enough to be a sweet poem.

You didn't like it

and discarded it

like an old worn out shoe.

I picked it up,

walked over to you

and hit you with it several times.

After all,

you did say,

"Hit me with some poetry."

I weave the threads together

Colorful and warm

One atop the other

For the baby newborn

Her tiny pink hands grab at my wrinkled fingers

As she fusses and makes some noise

Her flowery scent still lingers

She’s such a bundle of joy

I hold up the pink sweater

And put it on her to see if its her size

I’m careful not to upset her

Though she only gawps back at me with big starry eyes

It molds to her body

All snug and cosy

I tickle her chubby chin

While her cheeks turn all rosy

I get back to knitting the hat to complete the look

All the while peering into my favorite book

What a wonderful day it is really

Write your name on the line, short and sloppy.

Another obsession I’ll soon be over.

I just have to get you out of my system.

Blood oozing from my fingertips as I scribble down my sins.

Yours mingle in, a darker shade of red on the marbled bathroom floor.

Your screams echo like symphonies as the smile digs into my face,

Memories burning my face as they fall as tears.

Blood drips on the porcelain sink, mingling with the left-over water droplets.

My reflection mocks me as I scrub at my veins,

Trying to get your blood off me and making myself bleed in the process.

I wrote love letters on the palms of your hands

But you smudged my emotions while touching other things,

Other people,

Mindless of the pain you were causing.

Bruises and stitches.

Band-aids and heartache.

I’ve had enough.

I’ll get past these glittering memories that sparkle

Like gold in the nostalgia’s blinding light.

Fool’s gold.

I’ll get you out of my system.

Even if I have to bleed out to do it.

Only complexity exists - but who could face it? Through the falsifying ease of simplificaiton, we blind ourselves to truth. The world cannot be escaped, and we have only fooled ourselves. Nothing humbles like an exploding star. We feel so weak in the face of it, our legs go numb, our hairs stand on end. What have we done? To witness complexity is far too much for some. We could remember ourselves for a moment, realize what we are, grasp the cosmic balance, but this takes strength. We would rather peter out, lost and alone, a speck in a galaxy - a mystery to all. It can be avoided, it can be changed, but who will face complexity, and weave across the sky like stars do, before we all explode?

It's unbalanced thinking from a tilting point of view.

It's trying to walk straight in between swaying untruths.

It's the uneven orbit that pulls and pushes the dizziness.

It's the fake support of altering effects that controls movement.

It's dodging the fast actions of painfully slow thoughts.

It's stumbling right over the past that stays left

It's tripping into future guesses and expecting to know.