Acrostica...

Heavy is the head that wears the crown;

Only smile you’d find is on this clown;

Never have I felt anything but down;

Even faking a smile to hide a frown;

Seems like everyone wants to see me drown;

Time, I guess, to leave this town.

Dear readers, I wanna try something different. Send in your acrostic poem on any theme. This one is for being Honest. Let's come up with a poem that is made up of stanzas from your acrostic poems.

Her...

Her eyes sparkling in the winter night.

Shining like diamonds, clear and bright.

Her breath, slow and light.

Her beauty, truly a wondrous sight.

Her finger traces my chest slowly,

Stroking gently, warmly.

Her lips curled seductively,

Pulling me in alluringly.

She likes her tea without sugar,

She likes her food without much salt,

She likes baked potato and a certain tofu,

She also likes mushrooms to a fault.

She sometimes acts silly in the car,

She has nightmares that can go real far,

She knows her worth in life,

But isn't ready to be a wife.

Her eyes sparkling in the snowy night.

Shining like stars, clear and bright.

I see all this in her, and more,

Her, the woman I adore.

Blackout...

Sand.

It's everywhere.

Feels like there's a hole and sand is falling out, getting everywhere.

Yet, going nowhere.

Memories are starting to fade...or...they're missing entirely.

Silence.

Silence so disconcerting that even the droning of jet-plane engines would be preferable.

The process started some time ago. Started for entirely different reasons. Reasons that I can't quite remember now.

Was it to make my life better...or was it to be a better person...was it for someone. Can't remember anymore.

Therapy.

Mayhaps the intention was pure.

Wanted happiness...was it for myself...was it for a girl...can't remember anymore.

Something isn't quite right...can't remember anymore.

Memory.

Shards sharp enough to cut.

Can't remember.

Was told that this was the choice.

Can't remember what...why...

I think I'm happy.

Birthdays.

When will this ever stop?

This seemingly endless cycle of wanting to move on, yet feeling guilty in the end and then tossing myself back into holding onto fragments of memories like a broken record stuck on a loop.

Funny thing, birthdays. They'll bring joy one moment at having lived yet another year. Then the next thing you know, they'll bring sorrow for having lived yet another year...especially when the only ones you celebrate it with are ghosts. Alright, not ghosts as in the plural...perhaps just one ghost.

I've always told people that I don't celebrate my birthday and that it's just like any other day, there's nothing special about it. What I could never bring myself to say to them was, and still is, that the last time we spoke was on my birthday. Your final words to me were wishing me a happy birthday.

Every year since then, I've sat by your side watching the sun's rise and set. This year, however, I missed it...thinking it would help me move on. All it helped me feel was even more guilt.

So, here goes. 

Happy belated birthday, my love.

I miss you, dearly.

These Streets...

Funny how love works.

It shows a different side

To everyone.

All we can do is go along for the ride.

I used to walk down these streets...

I recall the chemists, the bars, the chilly breeze.

Then we walked down these streets...

I then recall the florists, the cafes, the bakeries.

We saw the world with the other in mind.

Before you, I must have been blind.

I never noticed the finer things

Like the smell of fresh bread, coffee, or a bird as it sings.

Funny thing, love.

It shows a different side

To everyone.

And I'm thankful I found her, my bride.