i lay on my bed,
i stare at my ceiling.
why does looking at nothing
seem so appealing?

i'm thinking of all the days with you 
especially our last.
i try to move on
but i'm stuck in the past.

she always had loved me
called me her dear.
when i was with her
pain would disappear

this wasn't a drug,
it wasn't a knife.
who i'm talking about 
was the love of my life.

beautiful,an angel,just a picture of her face
a vibrant canvas
she's gone now, the canvas
empty,drab, ashame it was candid

before she left she was weak and cold
to see her like that i couldn't take this. 
but she held my hand and said one more for good luck
for the last time i kissed her lips.

     11/9/08


i wrote this poem about a girl, named Chelsea, i knew for
about three yrs. we were always best friends and eventually
we got really close. it was my first and only "real" love i
had , but her parents moved across th US. i haven't seen her
since. but i always think of her.