Lonely tree

In the forest, all alone.
My lonely tree feels as cold as stone.
Surrounded everywhere by branches.
That bend and twist to their own advantage.
We shake in the wind, and shiver in sadness.
Sunken in our disturbing madness.
Until one day you came into the woods.
Scared the animals and riding hood.
Yet the wolves they ran, and hid like rabbits.
Convoluted out of their own bad habits.
And into my glade you stepped so proudly.
And struck a match and yelled out loudly:
“Love is a flame that burns us under!”
And as quick as lightening, you lit me like thunder.
So my lonely tree, burned quick and sadly.
And I faded away, into death quite glady.

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Merry-go-round

I am standing still, looking at you,
Your hand in mine, is slipping through.
I stop to shout, to utter a cry.
Your smile and face, they rush on by.
I raise my voice to stop your tracks,
You raise yours, and shout right back.
Back and forth, shots land on the ground.
Both of us nailed to this merry-go-round.

Burning the circus down

A sweet parade that rolls in from somewhere we’ve both known before.
The turpentine love is everywhere, seeping into cracks we thought we’d patched and sealed.
Flags are flying that signal everything from alarms to the falling of arms, a serenade of surrender.
A day like any other.
Your friend’s gather, ready to pick up what has been sold over to you and to count the spoils of war.
Those that revel in you acquired freedom, ready to fuck the victory.
Your eyes are all over, counting faces and seeking out the wrong to fall head into.
The fanfares begin and the lions roar their procession of emotions.
I stand in the middle, decorated in the best I can be. My hair out of place and my heart in my hands.
The crowd cheers, the revolver found its way so quickly into your hands.
Placed by someone, or there all along?
The pump from the heart and the blood gushes out, red and chunks of blackness: by-products of the ego.
You eyebrows raise, the ‘I knew’ mask covers your face to a perfect fit.
The music dies, and I run. The death of me will not come from your fingertips.
You find me in the forest, my secret place. God you know me too well.
Kissing their lips you kill me over and over in a million heartbeats.
Then I’m alone.
Fumble in my pockets for the ticket, an emotion or a cry for help.
But the circus has left town.
Yet unknown to me, it burned to the ground.
You stand there smoking.
All I’ll ever be.