I've always hated when they called me baby.
Because that made me think I had to stay, that I was theirs to keep.  Every ***** on their prindle was fine, Every ache I carved, every stich I sewn , every needle I stuck into my finger, I yelled out "baby, why do you do this to me for I am not yours to keep".  We are not lovers just fighter pointing fingers at one another with clenched joints and O's in our throats heaving at the fact you're not mine. And I never wanted that.

I slept with the weeping willow, She did not taste like sticky sap nor smell like dirt. I puled her between my index finger and thumb and I pinched her heart strings until they popped.
Her heart was a cavity that was far from rotting and, was far beyond that.
I could wrap her rib cage around my neck and burry it into thee earth and create something not so much like me..Because I wouldn't wish that on anyone. I touched her sorrow soaked cheeks and wiped off her brassy neck and left her with finger prints I never wanted to leave behind.

I would tell you I miss you.
I would tell you every ******* day
As long as you would have stayed.
I would have kept you hidden in the most secretive part of me.
I would tell you I miss you
If that meant you would have stayed.

I’m writing this note on a pasty white shaded napkin with my first and last initial painting the fact I’m trying to be poise. I’m trying to be proper. I in scripture the following words on this delicate piece of cloth paper; I said “I’d love you for all of eternity. Until the sky gasps his one last relieving breaths and exhales all of his troubles into oblivion. I promised I would paint your toenails when your back would hurt, I’d eat the ‘everything topped’ pizza because you LOVE mushrooms and I hate the fact you love mushrooms, And I vowed I would wake up every morning and love you…scratch that…I would worship you and all of your forsaken benefits, I don’t care if you work 72 hours a week and only make $4.25 an hour and are basically being robbed for nothing but your peeling finger tips and your aching heels. I promised I’d love you until we saw Halley’s comet. I said I would lay across the roof at a quarter till two an let you draw lines upon my spectacles as I play the stars on my harmonica. I vowed I’d never leave. But unfortunately I am writing this on a pasty white shaded napkin 863 miles away from where I am supposed to be because everyone and everything is better looking ****, besides the sight of me