how can you be abandoned by so many people at once? a character in a book said that, as her mother slammed the door in her face. as she fell to the ground weeping, hoping for her mom to come back and hold her and tell her things would be alright. she was upset because she knew she was alone now, that her best friends were gone, and that her only family had beat her and left her dying. i really enjoyed that book. it brought a light to what was hidden to eyes that have only seen innocence in the world. "hate me. i blaspheme your god. i have no morals only sins. true art is made from suffering" we scream up and down safeway isles. holding our mcflurrie cups for all to see. talking loudly about sex and drugs in front of old people. shouting about satan in parks where young children play and eagerly listen to what you are yelling to them. walking down the streets,hand in hand, standing in the middle of the road, cars honking at you to move, some challenging the depths as to which you would go. swerving and missing, lucky for us. we had eachother and would have died with daisies in our hair and on our clothes. we were the flower children. holding hands, lying on the pavement. i had daisies on my eyes. i would see in techni-color. and i would tell poems to my friend, whispering them as the boy's skateboards slammed to the ground. whispering to one another on the bed, about people we knew. why it hurt so much to know them. knowing that they knew we spoke so highly of them, and that they enjoyed our endless compliments and speechs telling how wonderful they are. i suppose he is to be a drug. he creeps into your veins through his words and his invisible touch, telling you that you are wonderful and that every second, is a second less to see him. for him to hold you. and for you to be together. there was once a dream of a boy in a funeral jacket, he offered black roses to me and a note written in french. there was a green house, the walls tainted black and the plant life only roses. his hand bled and so did mine. we held hands and danced between the grave stones to the old music of the organs and the moon watched, smiling upon us. there was a house. a doll house that was damages and old, inside a tattered dress. a white lacedress that belonged to a doll. it lay, half buried the skin bleached white. if you removed the doll from the water, it would become ugly and you cursed. the doll house would show you the people that lived there long before. the little girl with golden brown hair and a peach colored dress, dancing with her doll,hanging up the lace dress as to save it from mirky, clear waters. you could see the trees by the river bank and you could smell the river. i could see him sitting beside the ocean on mermaid's rock.his chin on his knees, his mind lost to the thought of a child he never knew. i remember the jungle dress and the matching hat, and carrying a balloon each day out to the trampoline and jumping until my arm was to strained to hold onto the balloon any longer. i would make a wish on the pastel coloured balloons, keeping my hand in the arm, trying to reach for it, knowing that i made a wrong wish or that it was the wrong time. i could always hear the piano from long ago, with a sun room and the brunette lady that went from young to old sitting in the same spot, her fingers always wrapped in the lace gloves, playing the songs that her mother had taught her. i can see the spanish ladies dancing in their red and pink flamingo dresses, their hair black and their faces tanned. where the old guitarist would play with his calloused and overly used fingers. the guitar old and the glaze cracked. the woman danced in circles, staying in the same movements weaving the stories with their hips and fingers. i can see the house buy the beach.the colours of rose pink and turquoise blue, lined the house. with white hyacinths in the garden out side and pink and white roses lineing the picket fence. and i could smell the primrose growing on the edge of the cliff, tempting children to come and play at the sea's edge. i can still feel the trees whisper to me as i remember lying on the front of the blue ford truck. we lay there, looking at the stars, contemplating the meaning of life and telling eachother our deepest secrets. and i can remember feeling trapped by the shooting stars, as if they were wanting me to fall with them. i can remember how the barefoot children ran through the fields up to the farm houses and snuck in extra cookies for dinner. i hate how i need him to feel alone. because with out him, i am lost in this world.kept secret from the streets, hiding in a cold damp basement while he thinks of me. he is too far away, telling me soon we would be together. how he would take care of me, and how he would love me. we share ideas and we keep secrets and we tell everything, all the poision that has lingered for too long on our lips. the thoughts seem to get lost half way between our minds and our lips, yet we always seem to know what was said, the silence comforting and seeming satisfied with the un-spoken words. i forget that right now, he is just a phantasm. and i forget that right now i am so young as to actually beleive in this, but after all the dreams i have had, after all of the glorious landscaped i have created, after all of the lies i have been fed throughout the years i know that he is the drug i have been waiting for to be happy. emotional pain. mental pain. physical pain. love. hate. forgiveness. mind. taste. touch. promises. together. never.