Webs of cotton- pink, from his hand
Touching the braids of her hair...

Gasp, scream, quiver in fear
The land separates miles apart...

Browsing through the local newsagent
For a new and unique publication...

As I lie on my bed,
Feeling the harsh wire dig into my skin...

Life goes by
Quick...

“I wish I were the wind,
To blow sweet reminders...

I care for the rose, dripping in vermilion scent
It sits so withered, dying without streams...

Ironic; the way you paint
Reminds me of a sound I once sung...

Thin twine weaved ‘round shaved wood
A hat upon my head to obstruct the sun...

My parents told me to give up
That I'd never go that far...

Often many people will ask me
What is my favorite feeling...

Happiness left me, like the daughter of the cancer...
Or the buzzing bee who lost its sting...