The bed was rocking so,
the movement of our bodies
caused my Rosary to fall on your face.

I'm not sure all that I want for you,
or all that I want from you,
but there are a few things I am certain of.

From you I would like a thousand more kisses,
two thousand more hugs
and maybe three more thousand kisses.

For you I want happiness. I want you to not have
to worry about him, be it your father, your friend,
your could-have-been lover.

But I understand that you need to figure out
how to not worry about these things on your own.
I can only wrap my arms around and hope to help.

For you I want happiness.
I want to be there for you
and for you I want happiness.

Listen to the wind screaming
And the air howling
The thunder rolling
Lightening illuminating the black skies
You will hear the storm
And remember me;
Think  
She wanted storms

ringing ringing ringing
the phone off the hook
hoping hoping hoping
he’ll give back what he took

what he took is my heart
ran away with it
so I continue calling
it hurts, I’ll admit

when he doesn’t answer
and I hear that blessed beep
always in my head
even at night, counting sheep

the ringing never stops
for the phone is never picked up
and I continue to swallow
pills down, with water from my cup

they make me feel content
sometimes for just a moment
to help my bleeding heart
they’re just another component

I hear the ringing in my head
day and night it never stops
similar to the screaming sirens
heard when circled by the cops

ringing ringing ringing
making my ears bleed
the ring replaced by his voice
that is all I need

the sound in my crazy mind
the ringing of his phone
will he ever pick up his end,
or am I left alone?

Silently, "I need to tell you something."
I approach. Falter, walk away.

I need to break this bond I have with silence,
This unhealthy affair I have with solitude.

I haven't even the energy to pull the words up from my stomach.
I heave,
Retching out nothing but bile and air.

I have so many things to say,
Passing fruitlessly through the space between my ears.

Speaking of space, that seams to be where I exist.
It's either that, or this is Purgatory.

Hell.
Too much conscience to be clinically depressed,
Too far gone to be "normal",
Nothingness.

"This is what it feels like to be a ghost."
To no one, again.

I wish we could forget.
Forget all the things we never wanted to remember.
If the past is in the past, why do we still remember,
remember how it felt?
How it all felt.
One day we forget
but the next,
All of the feelings hit us again.
Every stab in the back and
every broken heart.
Why can't we forever forget?

- S.S.