There are choices to make and*  choices  that make  **you

I wrote your name
In the sand
And the wave washed it away

I formed your name
With the fallen leaves
But the wind blew them away

So,
I carved your name
In my skin
Hoping my tears could wipe them away

But instead,
It killed me *twice

June 1st, 2008:
They'll never convict me, they don't have any real proof, I cleaned up all my mess, no one knows the truth

January 29th, 2009:
**** Lawyer, says he's got so much evidence. Wait until he hears my defense. Rock solid alibi, I wasn't even there that night!

March 10th, 2009:
My lawyers a shmuck but I think he knows his stuff. Talking about blood patterns and mismatched knives. Can't this jury just admit I'm innocent and get on with their lives?

November 14th, 2009:
Well, now there's a new witness, says he saw me that night. I know it can't be true, I kept outta sight. Supposedly he heard her scream, but I know that's not right. I had her mouth duct taped tight

August 15th, 2010:
Guilty! How the hell can this be?!  This wasn't supposed to happen to me!

February 12th, 2011:
That girl was asking for trouble, it was unavoidable, anyone can see I didn't do no wrong, this **** jail cell ain't where I belong!

May 2nd, 2011:
I'm getting the chair!? This just isn't fair. I got a lot of family to think about, they believe I'm innocent, beyond a doubt

July 21st, 2011:
I don't understand why they haven't come to visit me, it's actually starting to get kinda lonely.

December 25th, 2011:
Well, it's Christmas today, here I am in my cell. I can't even remember when I actually fell. Why did I **** that poor young girl?  Robbed her of her chance to make it in this world.

March 30th, 2012:
Please God, forgive me for my sins, help me find salvation. I'll never again bow to wicked temptations. I'm getting electrified in such a short time, can you help me find a way to ease my troubled mind?

April 6th, 2012:
Please God, please, I beg of you, just get me out of here! I'll trust in you, in YOU I'll fear! Please save me from this awful fate, in you, my love will be great!

April 8th, 2012:
Well, God, I guess you haven't been listening, are you even there? I tried to change my ways, do good, but I'm pretty sure you no longer care. I'm sorry but I just don't believe anymore, I'm not even sure why I'm saying this prayer because tomorrow morning I'm getting the chair

April 9th, 2012:
I'm walking the dreaded green mile to take my last breath. I admit, I did wrong, but what will I say to Death?  Sitting here, while they strap me down, through the glass in front of me, looking all around, I see the faces of her parents, crying. Well, I guess they're getting their wish, I'm dying. I repented, I asked for forgiveness, they ask if I have any last words. There was only one thought going through my head... So I said..  "Where does my soul go when I'm dead? Of all my evil doings here on earth, what price am I really worth? Do you all really believe that I truly deserve death?" and as I take my last breath, nobody answered me

Then...

*Electricity

she was a poet,
and he was her pen.
in him,
she always found words to write,
songs to sing,
thoughts to think.

he'd smile,
and kiss her softly,
and say,
"write me a poem."

and she would.
she'd put poe,
and whitman,
and shakespeare to shame,
and she'd write a poem that made his eyes water.

she'd compare him
to a rose with no thorns,
a book with no end,
a world with no poverty --
the things we all wish for,
but can never attain.

//

he asked her one day,
"what am i?"
and so she picked up her pen,
and began the usual:
you are the shining sun after a hurricane,
with rays that open the eyes of the blind.
but he stopped her after those two lines,
and said that this time,
he didn't want any metaphors,
or similes,
or analogies.
he wanted the truth.

and so on that night,
as he slept,
the poet picked up her pen,
and she wrote.

she wrote,
then thought better of it,
then started over again,
and this cycle continued well into the early hours of the morning,
until suddenly,
she wrote, frantic,
if i can't love you for what you really are,
have i ever really loved you at all?

this, too,
she thought better of,
condemning it to the trash.

the next morning the poet was gone,
her final work a mere two words:

i'm sorry.

(a.m.)