Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people.
Where do the black trees go that drink here?
Their shadows must cover Canada.

A little light is filtering from the water flowers.
Their leaves do not wish us to hurry:
They are round and flat and full of dark advice.

Cold worlds shake from the oar.
The spirit of blackness is in us, it is in the fishes.
A snag is lifting a valedictory, pale hand;

Stars open among the lilies.
Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens?
This is the silence of astounded souls.

Sunset shrinking behind you,
the silhouette of your nose and your chin and the open
crook of your mouth chasing daylight
in reverse.

my body is but a canvas
for my blades to construct upon

through the corridor,
the steps of your heart have a beat
the balcony on the second floor,
the creases in my sheets

guilt has not but one form,
but thousands
some persist in prolonged periods;
prowling through the past programs of the mind
while many blow wind in your eyes,
each time the sun goes down

Drowning in my own tears
But I’m their only cause.
Depreciating according to Culture’s standards
Of a girl with no blemishes or flaws

My emotions have been put behind bars
My soul is dying behind this face
For while on the inside im in pain
All you can see is a woman of beauty and grace

People think that they know me
But they only know the ’me’ that I show
For the real me is not approved of by our society
Living my life on a self-inflicted death row