I don't want love that's given like bread to
a bird, just thrown in the pond so carelessly,
though with good will in mind.
I want love composed like a letter,
each word carefully constructed,
enticing me to attempt an even more eloquent response,
this kind of back and forth exchange of wit.
And I want love that is like a long
and scenic walk, like a million flowers
performing lively dances by the edge of the lake;
love that is hard and soft, give and take.
I do not want to be thought a poor, lonely duck
in need of a generous park attender's charity;
I want to be loved with selfish clarity,
as though I am the setting sun.

since you have left, i've been doing some sorrowing;
quite a lot of sorrowing, it seems.
morning sorrowing, evening sorrowing,
all in tune with the sound of the rain.
you brought me pain- even
when you were here, you did.
but it's such a shame
i can't have that old pain anymore,
this new pain being such a bore.

I've always had enough money,
and enough parental love;
my youth is in full spring,
I've always had more than enough.
But there's one thing that I'm lacking,
keeping me in want of satisfaction,
though what it is
I'm not quite sure.

a tiredness overcomes me that is deeper than love
and duller than feeling
I am not sleeping
I have not slept
         and yet I do not think of sleep
         so what do I think of?
I think of love and warmth but my veins are cold and
sticking out of my hands in a disgusting way that bothers me
quite extensively.
I want to get a surgery to get rid of all the veins in my
body, can I do that?
if you know a doctor please refer me.