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This is my paper poem thing. I need a title! SOON! Email me please. Runswithscissors@comcast.net. I see her. Everyone sees her. Every word she utters is a thick hypnotizing dew that covers each wet blade of grass, so vital to the morning dawn, that without this touch of magic, the world would seemingly shatter. With one smile cast towards one’s pathetic self, they soon become inimitable. Even her imperfections are superlative. Then, I see me. Everyone sees me. I am the one that my dad is forced to look at, forced to love. My words are empty, without meaning, without significance. They carry messages that only Hitler would consider of value. My smile forces recognition, wasted praise that falls on this burden the obedient abider must carry. As these thoughts lead me into a harmonious daze, I watch intricate smoke rings flow over the sturdy comfort of the bridge, allowing the disturbing truth to hang in the air on the challenger’s side, daring me to make my move. I tear my eyes away, afraid to see the reality for what it is. Yet, the image on the side of which I remain offers no comfort as well. I see my dad. Everyone sees my dad. His intentions always good, his actions always brave. I see the hurt that I have caused him. He has been reduced to something that in his whole line of mistakes, he has never become so desultory. *Here is where I take my bow*. Cold black rivers stream down my cheeks, and the sting of salt sours my taste. The world around me becomes cloudy luminous crystals and all is silent except for the soft sniffle of a coward, which echoes throughout my mind, lingering, carrying a haunting, un-moving, presence. I look at the pathetic crumpled stump of my cigarette being held securely on to by my trembling fingers. What a state I am… Me with my guilt ridden thoughts, crazed eyes, and drugged up mind. And, to complete this pathetic girl, all her balance is dependant solely upon the pack of Marlboros that lies before her. As I place my hand upon the cool rusted rail, a gentle wind picks up, wrapping me in its warmth. I wait for the gentle shades of pastel to appear upon the horizon. “My life is now no more than a tangle of lies and deceit, and broken promises that can never be rectified. No remedy exists, not even time. Through this clutter of my twisted ways, there is only one small strand of hope dangling on a string. ‘Failure is not an option!’ Well, it’s going to have to be dad. This is me failing, the only thing I know how to do… In the simplest terms, and most convenient definitions.” * And she left just before the morning dew had time to break through once more…*
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