breathing
talking
looking
being
trying
hoping
-
-
-
they all have something that relate them...
they are all *painful.

some
    people
          throw
             around
                 words,
                      that
                          others
                               consider
                        ­             precious...

i
eat
sleep
breathe
feel
and
see.          
                      but,
                      i
                      find
                      it
                      hard
                                        to
                                        be
                                                             me.

i just can't.

Albany Rosaline Smith.
On Mondays Albany went down to the store to get milk.
Her mother always gave her twenty five cents.
Twenty for the milk,
And five for some candy.
All the boys she passed along the way would tell her how she was
Genuinly beautiful.
And she knew it.
Albany was gorgeous.
On her sixteenth birthday she let Bobby Fisher
**** her under the oak tree
Out back in the feild behind the pond.
"You're something special there, Albany,"
He told her.
She knew it was true,
But it was a nice gesture,
So she let him **** her from behind this time.
Albany became Misses Fisher two years later,
Three weeks after graduation.
It was just the thing to do back then.
They had four kids,
And she was a good mom.
Mathilda, Lizabeth, Marcus, and Temprance.
Three of which were Bobby's.
One of which was the town physician's.
Bobby never knew.
He was a mill worker.
He was not very bright.
But Albany was.
Bright and Beautiful.
She died at the age of forty-two.
She was ***** an killed by the doctor.
He was also the mortician,
So no one questioned it.
It was a small town

[explicit, immature or whatever]*

remember, sweetie, that time
i was crying i couldn't stop

you undressed me
as the steam concealed all mirrors
and the burbles echoed my sobbing

hush, hush, baby girl*, whispered
the milky softness of your hands
pouring shimmerly on my shoulder
washing away my tears
rising a tide from my thighs to
my ******* my *******
geminally arosing in your palms
your hands your polished nails your mouth
me dripping tepidly in your shivering

then, sweetie, then, remember,
and again, my fair lady, lay me within the play
shatter all mirrors and free this starry night

Soft, sweet laughter, and moments enjoyed,
Half hidden smiles, and people to avoid,
moments of tenderness, such love unchecked,
a time long gone, that once was perfect.