What is our life? The play of passion.
Our mirth? The music of division:
Our mothers’ wombs the tiring-houses be,
Where we are dressed for life’s short comedy.
The earth the stage; Heaven the spectator is,
Who sits and views whosoe’er doth act amiss.
The graves which hide us from the scorching sun
Are like drawn curtains when the play is done.
Thus playing post we to our latest rest,
And then we die in earnest, not in jest.

1 2 Let me love you,
3 4 Love you more,
I am wasting my time
in the most splendid ways,
I am putting my shirts on backwards,
I am putting my pants on inside out.
I am leaving your house
with half of what I came with.
I dont mind wasting my ways with you.
The smiles of melting,
the loves of a thousand affairs,
and the hands of a girl and a boy,
can get you very far.
My eyes cant get any bigger,
but they want to observe more,
my mind cant think any larger,
but it wants to imagine more.
Open my eyes, Crack my mind,
one inch up my body at a time.
Flowers growing up from my bed
laying me down in sweet sweet petals,
knowing soon you will come.
Come away with me to a beach,
shoes here, vows there, love everywhere.
Dont escape from this ring and me,
I will support you where ever life may be.
Here we go into this brave new world,
and the only thing I regret,
is the 17 years I spent with out you.

After you left me
I let a dog smell at
My chest and my belly. It will fill its nose
And set out to find you.

I hope it will tear the
Testicles of your lover and bite off his *****
Or at least
Will bring me your stockings between his teeth.

Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand, it sang
in the closed fist: Open Open
Behold a gift designed to ****.

Now in my dial of glass appears
the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears


And look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh. This sorcery
I do. Being ******, I am amused
to see the centre of love diffused
and the wave of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.


The weightless mosquito touches
her tiny shadow on the stone,
and with how like, how infinite
a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse. A shadow is a man
when the mosquito death approaches

TWO loves had I. Now both are dead,
And both are marked by tombstones white.
The one stands in the churchyard near,
The other hid from mortal sight.

The name on one all men may read,        
And learn who lies beneath the stone;
The other name is written where
No eyes can read it but my own.

On one I plant a living flower,
And cherish it with loving hands;      
I shun the single withered leaf
That tells me where the other stands.

To that white tombstone on the hill
In summer days I often go;
From this white stone that nearer lies
I turn me with unuttered woe.

O God, I pray, if love must die,
And make no more of life a part,
Let witness be where all can see,
And not within a living heart.

Dont you ever,
think no one cares
that everybody hates you
no one would be friends with you
that you're just a mistake
that's been sent to earth

Because maybe,
there is a person who cares
Maybe,
there is a person that would listen to your cries
Maybe,
there is a person who wants you happy
Maybe,*
there is a person who *googles ways to make you better,
Darling trust me,
there is that person, you just haven't realize it