It was bright red, The apple from the garden Where he laid his head.

His name, a sound that made ladies swoon Brought great women to their knees Turned some to mush too soon For them to realize what transpired What changes were made That the garden bed inspired

“Come, see the earth that lies beneath my feet,” He would say in so many words “I’ll show you a garden full of love, Full of tenderness, care, and everything sweet.”

One-by-one they came For a promise that was bright red A promise that fed them instead, Slowly fed them lies, deception, and emptiness Like a poison strong enough to lure But gentle enough to be obscure

They’ll never know how it happened How they bought into the lies They’ll only know that the red Was so bright it filled their eyes With hope for a love everlasting While the lies he continued casting

But they bit into the apple The promise The poison that left them wanting more That only served to close the door On who they were before. Now lost, abandoned, alone The apple that promised love eternal Rotted their hearts, their lives Rotted them down to the bone.

Your love is like nightshade Sweet to the taste But a deadly poison Confusing my mind Numbing the pain To much could be fatal But I stay all the same I’m cautious and careful Never letting you get to close One day you may kill me But till then I’ll be here Loving you to the end

Your love is a poison a dagger to my heart But letting you yo taking you out means losing my life

Your kisses sear holes in my skin scars and bruises Blood and broken promises

Your eyes burn With shame and pain You wish you could just see what i see

You took a peice of me That i will never get back pushed me away and tore me apart

Your desire Disovling our love peircing the surface But keeping me trapped

Your breath warm though you seem lifeless hollow meaningless words pour from your pale lips

Your love is poison a dart to a board a hole that cant be fixed leaving you always wanting more

Sometimes passion is poison And it tastes so damn good That we willingly swig from it anyway Fully aware of what we’re bringing Upon ourselves

Will it hurt me? Will it kill me? Probably, but as the light fades And the sound dies away, You’ll find me clutching that bottle With the big black X on it.

Smiling the whole way down.

In a world of shadows cast by pain and doubt, Depression's grip on you grows with each passing day out. Two friends, once dear, now gone, leaving you alone, Lost in a world where laughter no longer rings like a chime in your home.

The weight of your body, a source of mocking shame, You starve yourself in secret, a desperate attempt to tame. Clinging to calorie counts as your only guiding light, A battle against your own reflection, a fight without a fight.

Poison The way I view how I feel for you The love that lingers in my veins Like I can’t get rid of you for days

Wishing for the thoughts to stop But hoping for it all to stay Like getting stung with love so deep The poison in my veins still seeps

The love I have for you will stay But the poison will begin to change Slowly killing me like I’m its enemy But needing you to always be with me

I’ll wait for you to take your time Because all I want is for you to be mine Poison in my veins will flow I just need you to help it let go

I think life might be my poison Everyday feels like a dream Hazy and unclear Distorted in every scene Echoing voices with cruel things to say About me and my dreams Choosing to live Wanting to die Two different agendas grappling inside I distract myself With endless stupor Sipping white wine I always want more But one day the pain will catch up to me In vain, I pray agaisnt the reckoning But as this living posion eats me inside I realise I never knew what it’s like to be alive

Stacy.

Her long, blond platinum hair Sways in the wind That is only created for her.

Her hips- small in size of course Dance side to side as if she knows Victoria’s Secret.

But the most dangerous thing about her Is her lips. That pink plushed area of skin Holds so much power.

Kissing every boy in the tristate area And Spilling gossip on every girl like it’s Hot tea: Fun to serve and Delicious to sip

But in the end, it burns them.

Stacy.

The girl you wanna be. But you can’t.

She’s the sun we puny planets revolve around. She’s the lion us meak prey must obey. She’s the poison we must inject ourselves with in order to survive.

Otherwise you’ll end up like Dani.

She didn’t listen. She didn’t obey. And now she’s socially and emotionally ruined

Cast down to a meteorite that burned In the sun’s hot rays.

Dani was a lesson. A lesson for the rest of us To listen. And obey. And play along to whatever game she wants to play.

Cause she’s Stacy. A poison so profound Once infected, or rather, injected, She controls you.

Like I said before, We’re all just puny planets living in the Universe That our great Stacy Created.

A love that’s that’s beautiful yet deadly. I stood on the side as you choose her and not me. When I would see you it felt like I couldn’t breathe. You were, are, my poison, the one I need to get rid of and find a cure. But that’s a lie, I can’t move on not when you my sweet poison is my life.

There once was a girl, maybe seven or eight, who played piano. More often than not, you could find her flipping through sheet music, and plucking out melodies with a sunshine smile lighting up her eyes. She loved piano, and piano loved her. There once was a girl, maybe nine or ten, who played piano. Her mother drove her every Friday to see her piano teacher for a lesson. The girl would rest her hands on the keys as her teacher gently moved her hands left and right; up and down the blacks and whites, showing the girl how to play. She loved piano, and piano loved her. There once was a girl, twelve years old by now, who remembered playing piano. She still pushed the keys with her fingers, she still was progressing through her books, and she still had her piano lessons every Friday, but with a new teacher. When her old teacher would smile, her new one would frown and adjust her hands. “Keep your hands curved, not flat.” “Slow down. You play too fast.” “With the advanced music that you’re playing, technicality needs to be a serious concern.” “You need to move back in your book. You don’t understand the theory or the technique. Music isn’t the only part of playing the piano.” But it was her favorite part. She didn’t want to say goodbye to her fingers dancing on the keys, she didn’t want to say goodbye to pretty music, she didn’t want to say goodbye to the joy of playing. She never played piano so that she’d be able to identify a Cadd9 chord. She never wanted to learn theory. She wanted to play. After a few lessons filled with theory books and empty of music, the girl quit and never looked back. If she couldn’t play and be happy, then she didn’t want to play piano. That was three years ago. The piano looks hollow now. The girl passes it by, time after time. Sometimes, she’ll sit down on the bench and flip open an old book, but right before she starts to try to press a key, her hands will seize up; her heart will stop; her mind will pause, because she’ll see a note— Practice this slower. Keep hands curved. Don’t play the whole thing all the way through, it just wastes time. —and she breaks. She sits there, on the bench, for a while, but eventually, without playing, she will stand and leave. For it is hard to play without joy. But not impossible. One day, she sits down again. One day, she opens her music again. One day, her life stops again. But on this day, she grabs a pencil. She erases his notes. Burnt and broken, she plays her C scales. Then her Ds. Then her Es, Fs, Gs, As, and Bs. Her fingers fly across the keys, but not quite dancing, not yet. She flips to a fresh page in her music book, one without any notes, and stares down The Entertainer by Scott Joplin. Her teacher always told her that she had to wait to play this song. That she didn’t have the skills yet. But she doesn’t care anymore. All she wants is to play. And that’s what she does. But then she stops. She stops whenever she wants, and she plays whenever she wants, because she is free. These days, you can find me on my piano bench most afternoons, but never Fridays. Fridays are my mourning day. I mourn the curious young girl with the sunshine smile, killed by theory. I think I’m finding her though. I can see her, I swear. Sometimes, when I play, and I mean truly play, I see her sitting next to me in her favorite striped shirt and tangled hair. I see her smile. I see her fingers dancing with mine, before technicality ever killed curiosity. Before being right ever came above being happy. Before I forgot how to play.