I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth—
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth—
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?—
If design govern in a thing so small.

I want to fall in love
with you so deeply
to a point I can't
bring myself up.

Late at night
I want your name
written all over my
young mind to
a point where I
can't ever erase it.

During the day
only the memories
of you and I to play
in my head
over and over again,
to a point where
I turn insane.

See I want all of
these things,
just as long as you
stay with me.

If you leave all
that would **** me.

My eyes have wandered
to the woods and back to
where we could and should
have spent our evenings, nights,
and seen the morning
lights through the naked limbs
as our limbs remain tangled
among the root mangled soil.