we rushed from the warm inside
to the cold outside
of a New York City night
Hailed a cab
then caught sight
of a lonely figure
slumped in the night
Someone help
Someone said
she’s in trouble
her soul is dead
and I thought
it is indeed
but what makes her different
from everyone else
I’ve met
Tonight

I think it is a nervous disorder
Though I wish it were shamanistic

But maybe baby both
I don't mean to be relativistic

Illness and health together
Suffering poetry

Mother Mary in times of trouble
Whispering: Let it be!

Making love with the lights off,
  voices surround me once more. . .
      . . . fat. . .
           . . . round. . .
               . . . small. . .
I am yours,
  but hide me from me
     keep the lights off
       let me feel beautiful
         before these voices tear me down once more. . .

-ʟɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴏꜰꜰ

I'm risking so much
by touching
you.
But when our
lips meet
I don't fear
death anymore.