He picked her up,

As if she were valuable.

As if she were a bowl in a China shop.

But not just any bowl.

That beautiful, antique bowl.

That one that sits on the top shelf,

with delicate, hand painted flowers.

That one that has seen so much,

In so little time.

That delicate, fragile bowl.

With a chip on the edge,

And a crack down the side.

He picked her up.

With care, with precision.

He painted the broken pieces.

Not with glue,

But with gold.

For she is not broken,

She is valued.

For she is not broken,

She is treasured.

For she is not broken,

She is beautiful.

Her hand trailed along his body, starting at his shoulder and ending at the base of his spine.

Their eyes collided with a sense of wonder.

The energy rolling of of them like waves.

He pushed her hair out of her face, bringing hers closer to his. Only to stop just centimeters away and whisper "You are my whole world, my endless universe and I want to get lost in you."

Her eyes shined as bright as the sun.

His sun.

And they intertwined their worlds. Colliding and molding to form one being. One small moment in time.

If only he knew it would be the last time they touch.

If today you where to look at me you would see someone completely different. 

Someone broken and battered, left behind.

If you where to look at me 5 years ago you would see someone completely different.

Someone lost and fearful, but existing. 

If you where to look at me 10 years ago you would see someone completely different.

Someone whole hearted and trusting, hopeful.

Feeling empty

Sitting here

Wishing I was tipsy

Feeling empty 

Like my glass

Tipping over

Over you

That's what I'm suppose to be

But I can't help it

You're on my mind

On my mind all the time

Empty

Empty is what I feel 

Because you choose her

Over me

That's what I'm suppose to be 

Over you

But your not over me

She doesn't know that

I can see it

Empty

It's what you feel

When your next to her

Missing me

Empty

Like my glass of wine

Falling 

Is what we are

It swallowed her whole, her life was for the taking every time she inhaled. She gave it away when she made the decision for the first time. I remember her telling me that she had a hard time breathing, but she felt so alive at the same time. I couldn't understand how that was possible. How can someone feel alive but be so dead?

The addiction only grew stronger and stronger. It went from one a week to five or six a day. After that she started to look gaunt. Not only did she stop eating but she stopped talking to me. She stopped confiding in me for any emotional support. I'd only see her around town every now and then. She started getting into other drugs and alcohol. I reached out hoping to knock some sense into her. It only made her angrier and push back. This addiction has only grown to the point where she had depended on the high to get her through the day, not only to make her feel a little better.

Flames lick the ending of the page; killing the promise she had made to me what seemed like a long time ago. As it started to burn, smoke danced its way up into the sky. Her eyes concentrated as she inhaled, waiting for the high. Leaning back against the garage door, blowing smoke into the air. She looked over at me. I was finally able to convince her to come over. I wasn't able to convince her to walk away from it for a little bit, even just to get some fresh air.

My body language said everything words didn't. I stood five feet away waving my hands every time she blew smoke so it wouldn't come near my face. "You don't understand how BAD that is for you." Is the only thing I am able to tell her before she scoffed at me, glares, and walks off. Smoke still sails up to the tree tops forgetting its true purpose.

I watch her gaunt legs as she stalks off my property. Not nearly as sympathetic as I should have been I yelled out “You’re going to die.” She stopped dead in her tracks and crashes to the ground on her knees. The words where barely audible in her small, small voice, but still there. “I know.” The addiction wasn’t the first thing in her life and I wouldn’t let it be her last. I tried so hard to convince her that it was wrong for her. That she was slowly killing herself if she didn’t stop, but she didn’t see it that way. She only felt the high. She only felt the pain after the high was gone.

Those little pieces of paper ruled her life. And she let them. She slowly pulled out the last cigarette of her pack, lit it and watched it burn. She inhaled one last time. The smoke curled around her lips, then around her face. Unknowingly engulfing herself in her own coffin.