When the moon hangs low

And whispers secrets in my ear

In slow breathy tones,

I can pretend the distance

Between you and I

Is a forgotten nightmare

I have long since awoken from.

I can lean into your voice

Pressing myself into its revibrant rhythm

Feeling it crash over me like soothing waves,
As you hum assurances in my thirsty ear.

I drink of you, the fine wine of forgotten dreams intoxicates me

Pulling the breath from my lungs and replacing it with yours.

I echo the future you are peddling

Matching each note as we tune our fantasies to the same

previously barren frequency.

You can't know how bad my heart yearns!

Its soft chambers absorb each note

Aching with the heady fullness and

Vibrating with the song of your words.

The now exposed wounds of your vitrol and dispassionate arrogance salved over,

With a sweet poltice of whispered nothings.

Hope rises in my breast, a bird bursting

To break free of the prison of past hurts

Her wings longing to stretch forth to the sky .
She longs to fly away from each

razor of disappointment that has cut so deeply into her flesh.

Like so many dreams, it ends with a whimper.

The song fades into the vague waking memories of nighttime emissions,

A breathy requeum of a forgotten future.

Unable to burst forth and fly, the bird has settled to sleep in a nest deep in my throat.

The sale of fantasy has ended.

For wounds of the heart don't so easily heal, with snake oil promises.

Pieces of Me

You took me apart,
Piece by piece.
Each lie removing
Another brick,
Each betrayal,
Crumbling the mortar
That binds me
And keeps me whole.
I am left with raw,
Exposed rubble,
And the very person
I once was,
Strong and confident,
My once beautiful spirit,
Lays in broken pieces that
Have become a wall
Between us.

Shattered

I tried so hard to pick up
your broken pieces
And glue them back together.
That I never noticed
When I began to crack
Until I looked down,
Just in time to see myself shatter
At your feet.

Ghosts

Over that hill is the graveyard
Lined with moss covered tombstones
Each one erected in memoriam of
One of the millions of
Tortured ghosts created,
Every time a tiny piece of my soul
Was crucified
On the alter of your ego,
Slashed with swords of your hate,
pummeled by the raining arrows
of your apathy and disdain.
You have undertaken
An excruciatingly slow,
A pathologically eternal,
Emotional genocide.
The ghosts scream at night,
If you listen closely,
you can feel their desperate wails,
Echoing silently, pulsing
Through the empty caverns
That now are all that's left within.
Their voices might be silenced
But they never stop screaming
My empty husk quivers and tremors
With their angry despair.
"Just fly away, fly far far away."
The sorrowful requiem reverberates
With each beat of my broken heart.
At the same time,
You "lovingly" clasp my hands in yours,
Gaze deeply into my eyes,
wondering with feigned grief
And brows furrowed
in over exaggerated confusion
why I am so "distant."