a/n: we need a section for sad poetry. I don't know if it should rhyme at the end . . . give me your thoughts, please Annabella. . . my hand print is still pressed against you . . .I still feel your tiny fingers slipping through my palm
then you would jump up and down and want to swing
you always wanted me to swing you.
left,
we were right
because we were always together.
you were only a young girl
ask your age you'd answer with a smile
"6 plus 1" just to confuse
it sticks inside my mind like glue,
and all the stationery you ever used
still clouds my empty room
where you used to creep at dawn
"there's a monster in my closet"
you'd whisper then put your feet against my skin
and slowly shut your eyes
you were dead scared but never cried
that's how strong you were, I knew
such a bold young beauty
I can't stop feeling sorry for how you disappeared
inside a ghost you vanished thinly into a night
I could have sworn I heard you crying at my bedside
there was no sunshine the day you died
torn under sheets I scribbled in lipstick I miss you.
how can you keep a hand inside yours?
desperately remembering your fingers slipping...
and there your tombstone gathered roses
mudded on the side from all the rain
the years keep passing and all the words keep fading
but the lipstick still remains
and so I stained my heart to your grave:
I still miss you,
please just stay.