You make me feel
Like there is
Something wrong
With me

Because you
Told me
You liked me
And that you would
Do all of these things
With me
And told me
I was the most
Beautiful girl
You have ever seen

You made me feel
For once
In my life
That I actually
Mattered to
Someone
That someone actually
Cared enough
To text me back
Or worry
How I was doing

But I realized
It was all
Just another game;
I turned into
Putty in your hands
And I let you
Play and tear
At the strings
Of my heart
And at the strings
Of what was
Keeping me
Alive

So, guess what?

*******.

-e.w.

Let me discover your history
Let me know your deepest dreams and fantasies
I will sit for hours listening to your thoughts
I will welcome your words with anticipating silence
I want to know everything you have to say
I want to be there for all of your important moments
I want to be a part of your best memories
I long for you
As I sit in the library
Surrounded by strangers who know nothing
Missing you
Wishing you were mine

when Whitman wrote, "I sing the body electric"

I know what he
meant
I know what he
wanted:

to be completely alive every moment
in spite of the inevitable.

we can't cheat death but we can make it
work so hard
that when it does take
us

it will have known a victory just as
perfect as
ours.

Babe I'm slowly dieing inside, even when my heart cries. The only name it calls is yours all through the night. I try and I try all for you but I'm still hiding in disguize. Afraid from hurt lingering on my past. So blind from hatred, pain, agony. I forget you're right beside me. Baby I know you want me to trust you and trust you I do. But sometimes its hard when I've ran for so long. Ashock and astonish she's so perfect more pressious then the rarest of diamonds. She's my all, slowly driving me to the brink of madness only to find out its because my love for you causes my heart such madness.

I do not want a plain box, I want a sarcophagus
With tigery stripes, and a face on it
Round as the moon, to stare up.
I want to be looking at them when they come
Picking among the dumb minerals, the roots.
I see them already -- the pale, star-distance faces.
Now they are nothing, they are not even babies.
I imagine them without fathers or mothers, like the first gods.
They will wonder if I was important.
I should sugar and preserve my days like fruit!
My mirror is clouding over --
A few more breaths, and it will reflect nothing at all.
The flowers and the faces whiten to a sheet.

I do not trust the spirit. It escapes like steam
In dreams, through mouth-hole or eye-hole. I can't stop it.
One day it won't come back. Things aren't like that.
They stay, their little particular lusters
Warmed by much handling. They almost purr.
When the soles of my feet grow cold,
The blue eye of my tortoise will comfort me.
Let me have my copper cooking pots, let my rouge pots
Bloom about me like night flowers, with a good smell.
They will roll me up in bandages, they will store my heart
Under my feet in a neat parcel.
I shall hardly know myself. It will be dark,
And the shine of these small things sweeter than the face of Ishtar.