Tania.

Tania,

There’s a storm raging outside,

I’m scared, grandma’s weak,

And there’s no place to hide,

The man in the hood,

Promised you’d be alright,

Dreams violated by needs,

Took it in your stride,

Through the windows of the asthmatic apartment,

Searching for yourself in the dark streets of Moldova,

And bleeding for the unborn, unknown and unwilling,

This isn’t home...

Tania,

I’m sick,

Roses smell like weeds,

The tree you planted in the backyard,

Lightning split it in half,

Why you cut your hair?

Why those eyes, which were so reassuring,

Lay out a tired stare?

Those fairytales weren’t lies I know,

I’ve dreams of you in a better land,

Slipping away in shifting images,

Just like in that small mirror in your hand,

Tania,

He cut me up once,

Now he says to buy a coffin,

And I am ever so glad,

Don’t go back there, don’t look so sad,

Its better this way, this wasn’t your way,

I’m free; I hope you escape your past,

For I know now...

Some stories don’t have happy endings,

Some stories... don’t even last...