This is my 945th poem,
and sadly, it'll be my worst...

You whispered "don't die" to me right...
And yes, I feel broken, but like Mother used to...

In the pallid green of sunset
was a little fairy lost...

Remember those big yellow suns you used to draw...
Funny how the world changes. How would you colour...

Tears rip acid tracks down my cheeks,
perfectly imperfect slopes...

She's screaming out goodnight,
not planning on waking up...

My God, I haven't written this way in a long time.
Not in a long time, no, not me...

A thousand broken wings
and a half a dozen burned out candles...

Twirl a little faster, sunshine,
and hold your head up high...

Falling into permanent nasuea,
a little blood, a couple lies...

Too many things I need to do,
overwhelmed by reasons to live...

Slightly crooked picture frames
hang from an abstract wall...