maybe it’s because she hides iron fists
in soft velvet gloves.
maybe it’s the authority dripping off her tongue
like honey
slow, and sweet and overwhelming
maybe
just,
maybe it’s because
she’s a woman.

it's like I'm playing 'doctor' with myself
telling me that "this won't hurt a bit."
I guess that I'm not lying to myself
I don't know if it hurts to quit

no experience--sometimes you really only get one shot
no, not a shot, too messy--this is a chance
but  I hope I've tied a good one
like one try on your first shoe-tie, and then having to dance

it's a tad nippy out the windowsill
the rope is so languid in my hands
it looks just like my neck probably will
but pondering is not what this demands

a nice rope, not too fat, too thin
although, a little itchy, adjust it some
it's funny I still care about itchy
it's funny that I can't go numb

too old
to die young

too cynical
to believe

the revolution
still lives.

A young girl is trapped
Trapped in a snowy dense forest
Before she started she accepted death
Each step she takes is one step further from home
But closer to something she can call home
She's already mourning out of sheer helplessness

Now shes getting cuts and bruises from the abusive forest floor
Then she finds a break in the dense forest
She can see the sun and she can finally breathe
No sooner than later the sun vanishes
She keeps moving forward looking for that next bright light

Every stop gives her comfort but scares her because she realizes she can't afford to go back to where she once was
No matter how far she travels she will always be mourning something she lost