Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Four people in a house,
although bonded by blood no other ties exist

gracefully tracing your veins
like a dainty necklace swinging from collarbone
to the other
the sun comes up too early
& we’re too busy inhaling the chemicals
drunk off of each other;
empty wine glass pieces, broken on the floor
droplets of scarlet red, scattered all around
we’re losing control in our nicotine dreams
and we just get higher and higher
till we’re above the world
we sing along to grunge music just to drown
the silence and
we taste each other’s lips, wet with tears
I surrender to your grip, I stop fighting
I let my body slip through your fingers
like waterfalls
like tears