The itsy bitsy spider,
wiggled and jiggled,
and tickled inside her.

They ran out, to the rain,
then ate all her curds and whey,

and rolled down the hill

more wiser.

What a little ******* loneliness is.
It slithers thru the crowd in the dark,
looking for you,
sniffing you out of your happy,
caressing and enticing with its discontent.
Until it finds you.
Sadness and hate in its tow.
Wretches your stomach,
like that of a vomiting dog,
It threatens with falling tears
fat platform divers,
into cups,
of tea.
Sometimes.

When she walks by,
she stays behind,
her sillage wrapped
around my mind.

I want to tell her
how I feel,
write on her skin
quivering quill.

But I just stand there
blundering , squeakly
waving my arms
weakly and meekly,

while on a treadmill,

daily and weekly.

I wonder how much
unlike me
I’d be,
if I was for sure
bat **** cra-zee
I can really
not see me,
honestly
that much to the left
differently.
I would not keep unsaid
probably,
And let be like horses
running free
the things that lay there
in the dark
secretely
the things that scream
inside me
silently.

I have a love
that makes me strong
That proves me wrong
And dwarfs me long.

Comes every night,
sits by my window,
her ways rush in,
just like the wind go

When morning comes,
as times before,
she skips on shells
along the shore.

A string of beads,
a heart in tow
She carries secrets
only we know.