Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
He.
Him.
His.
No matter the pronoun I use, it is the exact one I speak of.
His hands intertwined within mine are like leaves on a tree tied together with a branch. There's that bond, that if left becomes broken and they fall apart, one becoming bare and the other becoming torn.
His skin on mine as we lay together, it reminds me of a mid-summers day. The softness of a picnic blanket and the warmth of the newly risen sun.
His lips, lips that taste like candy, one that reminds me of my childhood and it's somewhat lovely moments of peace, honesty, and love.
His, Him, He.
The three words that make me look and say, "Shut up and kiss me" because if I don't I'm afraid I'll fall like the leaves, loose sense of nature, and forget what real happiness is.
Shut up and kiss me, please, just shut up and kiss me.
Another poem by the original Cassandra, however, none of them are as great as they will become.
A smile is a broken heart ,hiding a perfect storm.
A laugh is a volcano, waiting to erupt.
A wink is a tear, trying not to escape.

But her innocence was depleted, and that is no mistake.

Innocence is precious, innocence is sweet.
Innocence doesn't lie, nor does it weep.
Innocence is perfect, innocent is pure.
But they took it away when they made her a toy.

Innocence was depleted, and that's not a joy.

A girl is a masterpiece, waiting for her mate.
A girl is a gift from God, waiting for her perfect take.
A girl is a surprise, ecstatic at the least.
But who knew such a girl, could be damaged to a beast.

Innocence was depleted, and that was a beast.

A beast who stole it.
A beast who sold it.
A beast who lied, and covered it.

Innocence was taken but never uncovered.

Innocence...a word with no meaning.
Innocence...a word with all treason.
Innocence...a word with a depleted reason.
Another bottle, another soul.
Another ghost, another ghoul.

You took the bottle, you drank it away.
You spit out words like a knife and meant it in everyway.

Another bottle, another soul.
Another ghost, another ghoul.

14 drinks and a thousand words, 14 years I'll never outgrow.
You took the bottle, but you took a soul. You took my soul, you took my heart.
You treated my heart like it was a game of darts and you rung the bulls-eye with no regret.

Another bottle, another soul.
Another ghost, another ghoul.

The night you took a soul, was the night you took my hope.
The same night I gave up and took that rope, I took that rope and clung to death.

Another bottle, another soul.
Another ghost, another ghoul.

You took my soul and now I'm gone.
You took my hope and left me with that rope.
You took that bottle and chose it over me, you took that chance and now you see...your little girl will never be because she took her life the night that you took another drink.

Another bottle...gone.
Another soul...forgotten.
Another ghost...created.
Another ghoul...forbidden.
Constructive Criticism ONLY please.
She walks alone, scared...hollow...forgotten...
She is alone and lonely as she remembers the memories that collapse her lungs as she breathes in to clear her memory.
The thick, terrified, memories of her journey begin to rattle her brain.
The noise, the fear, the rage..
It's her broken journey.
The journey of her soul,
Her fragile endangered soul.
Her journey has just begun but she feels as if it has ended, she's all alone...lonely in this world.
Don't forget the girl lonely on journey...for the journey has just begun.
First Poem in over two years, please ONLY leave constructive criticism.

— The End —