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You Guardian AngelDear human
I don't see what you see
When I look in the mirror it's only me
There's no an angel wings or halo 'round my head
Just battle scars and the wish to be dead
Next to you I'm an old worn bear
I've got marks to prove I've been here and there
But I see you smile when I look your way
It makes me hope
I pray, and pray
The clench of my chest when you hold my hand
The way you kiss me makes it hard to stand
The scent of your skin when you hold me close
You are the one I want the most
Always here to be your wall
The one to catch you if you fall
Should that ever happen you know where ill be
Awaiting in heaven by the old oak tree
Cos heaven is hell if your not there
An eternity of torture
Of loss and despair
Your Guardian Angel
Waiting For YouAnd all I'm waiting for is to see your smile.
To hold your hand.
To feel your lips on mine.
And all I'm waiting for is for you to come home.
To be held in your arms.
And you in my own.
And all I'm waiting for is to listen to you breathe.
To feel your heartbeat.
To be at ease.
And all I'm waiting for is you.
Pink LinesThe uneven lines of my skin
For times when despair got the better of me
Run across my arm
A fragile pink.
Many times has regret flashed through my mind
As my eyes wander over them.
Delicate and innocent looking.
Meaning no harm but representing the very opposite.
Her Own ImaginingsA sudden weariness crept over me as I replayed everything that had led me up to this point. Was it my own callousness that brought on the shameful display of pain racking through my body? One half believed this to be true. The anger and despair were the strongest emotions she ever felt in the relationship. Did he not see her eyes twinkle with the shine of unshed tears? As he leaves her to her own imaginings, horrible as they would never be confirmed or disproved. Left to fester and grow dangerously close to her heart, as frail as a hummingbird's, quick to flutter and fail at the first sign of distress. She felt as if his age were a boulder, blocking her path. She struggled vainly to enter the pathway that was closed to her. But not once did he look back. For if he had, just once, he would have gazed upon a seamless pit of disappointment and longing that were her eyes.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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