I ran

I ran like I always run from problems

I ran like a kid who had thought they saw the boogeyman

But this was no boogeyman

This was a crime scene

You may wonder how it all began

He put one shot in my lover

So I put two in his

Oh he will never recover

But now I run

For I knew what to do but not how to flee

How could I escape from what has been done

I see a open door and decide to try and hide

Oh but how I would regret

The thing that couldn't be denied

It had one horn

It had one eye

It flew high and fast without a warn

And all around him

Dead, purple, people

The flying purple people eater made my chance of survival slim

Oh he was gorgous as could be. Seeing my silhouette in his eyes, feeling the breeze graze my white gown with life, and the kiss. The kiss every woman dreams about, wishing they had never woken. The kiss that elopes two and makes one love shatterproof.

This was our beginning, our bond, our everlasting companionship. We spent the rest of our days laughing. We spent the rest of our weeks running off and adventuring. We spent the rest of our months moving and making a place of our own. We spent the rest of our years starting a family. And, at last, we had our last breaths beside one another knowing this is the only life we would ever want to live.

You see, this is what I would have told my children. This is what I would have bragged about with my friends. This is the life I would have chosen over any other. But, I never had kids of my own. I never settled in and called one place home. I never explored and seen the world outside the one I grew up in. I never even laughed.

I lay here, coins over my eyes. Back aching from the stren wood I rest on. Lungs empty with no air to take in. And six feet of dirt to keep me in place.

He was gorgous as could be, but he was also more dangerous than ever. I made my mistake. I put myself into this grave. I married the man that put two bullets in my head. I never made it through my own honeymoon.

Is the glass half full

Is it gaining to the brim where it lies so peaceful

Does the glass increase with a steady flow

Does it climb to the top even though it may be slow

I fill my glass steadily making sure it does not spill

I give it so much and I do so with all my will

I feel so close to the top, to the brink, to the last drop

I feel drawn to this foreign place called atop

Is the glass half empty

Is it losing its place where it once had plenty

Does the glass run dry with stains of what used to be there

Does it fall swiftly or slowly with almost nothing to spare

I try to keep my glass high

I try but it drains with one quick sigh

Why must others take what is not theirs

Why must they take the one thing that I have that's already so scarce