The An(Goodbye)otic

Job well done, detective, you found the fine print, apparently it read as follow: 
Fathers are only required to met the needs of his child/children until his child/children need him the most at which point it's appropriate to proceed with life disregarding his child/children.

Directions: Take every ounce of hope and trust from the child/children. 
Look us in the eye and lie, we all know your as wrong as sin. 
Pretend your looking out for us, when clearly us means you. 
Your inability to pick up the phone and call was the first clue. 
The drunken words mumbled in and out of consciousness, 
After months and months away and all I get was this?
See I never thought I could lose you, dad. 
I can't help but to feel hurt, helpless, sad. 



Caution: Withdrawal may be easier for some than others. 
The best solution is not to ship them away to their mothers. 
You promised I'd always be your little girl, you swore.
As saddening as it is, I'm forced to realize you don't feel that way anymore. 
Call poison controls if the following symptoms occur, 
A heartache lasting for 6 months or more, vision tainted by tears, a blur. 

Can someone hand me a phone? 

The Swallow Waters

Selfish, and spoiled, you can't seem to stop the chatter, 

Can't take a second to bow your head in silence and consider what things really matter,
Your head is filled with the new technology, and the latest fashion,
Rumors, and drama is your only real passion.
You paint your face every morning and plan out who will be your next victim,
Check your split ends, time for a trim.
You look through the thousands of dollars your parent's paycheck have invested in keeping you 'cool.'
Just a bunch of idiotic, absent people using money as the prefered parenting tool.
So you deciede what outfit will appeal to those kids who fancy you so, aim to impress.
Finally you decide to wear that new little dress,
Best wear it while it's style is still in,
To waste such money would be a sin.
Because by the time it has been woren once or twice the season has long since changed,
And your closet is frequently being rearranged.
No attachment to those fabrics occupying hangers shoved into the back,
But the knowledge of the stories you seemingly lack.
Grab the shirt off the closet floor, feel the silk between your fingers.
Now close your eyes, let me paint you the picture so tragic it lingers.
The children in India, the children still full of youth, have the blisters to show for that shirt,
The hours spent in a factory filled with silent complience, surrounded with filth and dirt.
Dust fills their lungs with every single  breath,
With burns and cuts so bad they can be credited for their death.
So please, just for a moment, think about everything your blessed with.

The Lead That Lead To This

It was idea spread carelessly across the paper in hopes to perserve it, savor it.

Written by young, shaking and unsure hands.

It was navitiy at it's finest.

Tears stained the pages,

Hope fueled the pencil as it glided across the page.

A chance to leave the confusion behind, to find a new and better futrue.

The beginning, the middle, and the to be continued..

The most exciting adventure, the chance of a life time.

A missed oppruinity returning,

The dream come true.

The discovery that dreams don't always play out according to the story books.

That sometimes grass is dead and dying on the other side.

And hearts don't survive without sunshine.

An unimaginable pain.

A sorrow that is impossible to ever truly forget.

The nightmare's door into the real world.

The regrets, the doubts, the fear, the blame, the consumption.

Missing you, missing then, missing it all. 

Facing the unrepairable break.

Conquering the pain, and redirecting the hurt.

Becoming who I need to be to have a future good enough to make up for the years lost.

Finding the strength, the courage, the motivation to carry on.

Fighting the fight.

A strength that came with a high price.

The realization that people are simply selfish.

That they can't be trusted, to love you, or to be loved.

The reason that hearts aren't woren on sleeves, or even woren at all.

The One Who Wears The Cape

The lies you've told yourself; it's not worth it, the truth you evade; they care, the hurt you collect; the hidden tears, fears.  It's made you you, turned you into that amazing, breath taking person before me. The change started in your heart and spread to your eyes. And yes it's clear that you've pushed them away to arm length, and you have every intention of keeping them there, keeping them from hurting you anymore than they already have. The few that look close enough can see the loving spark that remains, waiting in the form of an ember ready to catch fire. Your different now then before, yet your the same good heart, the same caring soul. You are not those lies, that fear, that pain, they don't define you. You don't let them, and even with as hard as you try to convince the ones around you otherwise the truth comes out. Your beautiful truth, your story is out. The strength and courage in your heart, the love for life not so hidden in your eyes is why they look up to you, even if they don't admit it.

The Promise of Vengance

The times I bite my tongue so hard it bleeds, crimson red blood stained with sin.

The times my thoughts stop at just that, thoughts, dark and desperate thoughts. 

The times my breath escapes me, stolen by sorrow.

It's all wrong, my one and only goal is to speak my words to you.

To revel all the hatred, hurt, anger built up in my heart, 

All labeled with your name, no evading the blame.

I'll spend my time trying to sell my soul to the highest bidder, and throw caution to the wind,

Trying to rid myself of me, of the kind hearted girl you used.

Trying to become someone strong enough to return to you what you gave me, 

To tear your world apart and sit back with a smile.

I'm coming for you.

The Untouchable Faith

Passion in your eyes, and love at your fingertips. 

You've got so much potential rushing through your veins, beating life into your heart and soul. 

But doubtfulness linger near, sometimes your cheeks give it away, and sometimes it's your inability to look me in the eye.

Just remember some time will be your time, and you won't hesitate. 

Fear is a obstacle your working to overcome, it's a mountain your climbing 

You will come to the realization that there is less oxygen on top, and rarely any company.

So please don't linger long. 

Because right now, those who can see the magic you possess are waiting. 

I am waiting.

The Glass Shoe Shatters

Fairytales have ruined your perception,
The perfect little storylines are nothing more. Than deception.
Delightful acts of violance have never been so charming.
The intentions of the characters are often alarming.
Your heart, thought to be valued, is nothing more than a gimmick,
The axe man sent with a purpose, twisted and sick.
Trust, like a poisoned apple, is potentially tragic,
A kiss, could save the day, a brilliant act of magic,
But the rareness that our lives end,
Where the main characters and happiness befriend,
Is growing and so we'll read on and continue to pretend.

The Truth.

The second those letters combined into words, the instant your tongue and throat came together to produce the sounds, as soon as those sounds were transformed into sentences introduced to the world in your voice, you knew. Fear inspires fights, wreaks havoc on the heart, the head; force words into the space around us in search of refuge in undeserving hearts. All the anger thrown around is labelled in their name, or so you thought before you stumbled across the fine print. 'Warning: The truth is always here, right in front of you. But it's rarely seen for it's anything but easy. Please, allow your eyes to continue only when you've come with an open heart, a clear mind, a true desire to understand for though these words may be common, found in every dictionary, decorating pages and pages of books they nonetheless aren't to be wasted. Your head is wired with veins that connect to your heart and yours alone. No word spoken, no fist thrown, no hand held tights or lips intertwined can change that simple fact. Your happiness lies in your own two hands connected to your head and your heart by your own veins. They can not hurt you so please grab the key from the dark corners of yourself and unlock the handcuffs. Fear has been tried and found guilty for years of imprisoning a young heart and withholding the most important thing of all, love.'

Words mean nothing when for the length of a lifetime they were censored by fear, so please stay silent. Speak your apologizes in actions. Remember the truth, know that hearts can break and be pieced back together and be weary for hearts rarely recover from the damage caused by pushing when they are dying to pull closer. 

The Shaken Whispers

"I love you."

It started simply, that is one thing I can say for certain. Almost like the first breeze to prelude the storm, a refreshing blast of feeling, even when on occasion it chilled the blood for a brief instance. But as the wind began to return more often and in more fierce blows the chill spread deeper until it turned once warm, welcoming hearts cold and bitter. 

The sky doesn't hate the ground, nor the ground the sky; yet under pressure winds still transform storms into tornados that leave devastation in place of bread crumbs. There are no apologies spoken from the earth to the sky yet still the sky brings life to the ground and the grounds still returns what is due to the sky.

I love you. Spoken in silence. 

The Beating Monster Screams.

Not one single, not a thousand, falling stars. Not a devastating flood formed by the saddest collection of desperately fleeing rain drops. Not a dozen dreamy bedtime stories falling from your lips to their ears. Not one could compare to the fall for you. Fate shot a thrilling, darkly enticing kind of pain straight into the blood rushing through it's veins. Swallowed the most heart warming, breath taking poisons packaged beautifully in bottles labelled Love. Choked down tears by the teaspoon, inhaled angry words captured in the smoke of preferred slow death vices, consumed promises lacing the bottom of the bottle. Passionately shared lips, lovingly kissed fairy tales, dug it's fingers deep into the heart, pulled out the purest attempts at complete bliss; and finally it exhaled our love. No, please don't be mistaken. The love you had once knew of, believed, felt, encountered is real. Unquestionably occupying the hearts of the worlds occupants. But that, however, is not what feeds life into out beating hearts. The love we share was crafted, designed, created entirely by fate for our souls.  Our love possess a power than could devastate nations if only it could transform more simply into a missile. Love conceived in a black shade of white, born to conquer heaven and hell.

Prologue

It wasn't a choice made by the heart, and most certainly not one devised by the mind. There was no thoughts laced with apprehension, no subtle hesitations inserted between seconds to allow our hearts any reservations. It was fate telling our souls alike that there would be love. Love that defied free will, love that would not, could not be prevented.