The black cat
cried out loud
to the moon from
a place where she
couldn't be seen.
But from the sound
of the lonesome melody
i knew that autumn was here.
I never imagined that
death could be beautiful
untill i saw the falling leaves.
Red,golden,brown.
And I started to fall while
the crickets were singing
on the gentle breeze.
Months have passed.
I can't remember the
last time when i got lost
in my own thoughts,
staring at the old wooden
clock as the hands stroke midnight.
I feel like a bird locked
in an iron cage, desperate
for the freedom the sky offered,
although there was the
blue vast underneath.
Those who harbor their dreams
to be alone must have forgotten
how it's like to be lonely.
The air outside was poisonous
and not many gems
were sprinkled.
But the night sky does not
possess all the stars.
Some of them simply
belong to the sea.

Diamonds reflecting on the sun,
rainbows on my skin.
Seeking the lost light of my
empty black sky.
Pearls on my neck.
He stole my star, just visions of
galaxies left scattered.
He threw water on my flame.
When it's gone, i'm not alive.
No! I saw the light inside him.
Summer is still in the air, smells like vanilla.
Heaven's in his emeralds.
White gold lines my heart, but burnt
from the dead memories,from the dead life journey
leading me towards the dark abyss.
Unknown,stranger,stolen images.
Can you buy me more diamonds?

of course you will hurt me.

when i am sitting alone in the quiet
and thinking of the times i have bared my soul
i know there was never a question.

you have your own bones, and lungs and heartbeat.
you have your own ideas about love. about life.
while i am "getting by"
so are you.

the bus station is empty
except for a homeless bag lady,
a mother and her child.

the janitor sweeps yesterday's dreams
from the worn floor.

the mother moves to a corner.
her son a shadow always at her side.
sad eyes needs someplace to go.

the bag lady moves to the corner.
she says something to the woman and her son.
I can not hear but
the mother smiles and the boy laughs
and they appear happy
long after the bag lady
has gone to talk to the lonely janitor.

she touches his shoulder.
he turns, nods and smiles.
and she is Jesus
creating small miracles
and harming no one.

in the shush of the brooms sweep,
the sun rises.
the birds are singing.
she moves into the flow of her heaven

I keep wondering to myself,
Was there something I could have done?
Could I have avoided this all?

Maybe if I worked harder to be pretty
Maybe if I wasn't afraid to sing out loud, no matter the sound
Maybe if I could just push down the anxiety and throw myself into the world
Maybe... but it doesn't matter now

The past is written, the ink is dry.
All there's to do is live and die.