Here, where the lonely hooting owl
Sends forth his midnight moans,
Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl,
Or buzzards pick my bones.
No fellow-man shall learn my fate,
Or where my ashes lie;
Unless by beasts drawn round their bait,
Or by the ravens’ cry.
Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do,
And this the place to do it:
This heart I’ll rush a dagger through,
Though I in hell should rue it!
Hell! What is hell to one like me
Who pleasures never know;
By friends consigned to misery,
By hope deserted too?
To ease me of this power to think,
That through my ***** raves,
I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink,
And wallow in its waves.
Though devils yell, and burning chains
May waken long regret;
Their frightful screams, and piercing pains,
Will help me to forget.
Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night,
To take that fiery berth!
Think not with tales of hell to fright
Me, who am ****’d on earth!
Sweet steel! come forth from our your sheath,
And glist’ning, speak your powers;
Rip up the organs of my breath,
And draw my blood in showers!
I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the ****** dart,
My last—my only friend!

If I wrote a million words to you
would you feel any better?

If I her just how I felt
would her tears be any wetter?

At 3am, birds beautiful song
would simply upset her.



Maybe I could write the words
to myself, find my consolation?

The trumpet played but never heard
will receive no affirmation...

To chip the paint that covers it
will only increase the oxidation!



Suppose I run without turn of cheek
and leave sorrow behind me

... but sorrow lives, and much like a dog
will follow, beg right beside me

Turn to the sky to see much more...
but the Sun will simply blind me.

How heavy the days are.
There's not a fire that can warm me,
Not a sun to laugh with me,
Everything bare,
Everything cold and merciless,
And even the beloved, clear
Stars look desolately down,
Since I learned in my heart that
Love can die.

Half empty
Half full
Half dirt
Half blood
Clean shoes
No mud.

Dreaming of your demise
Your pitifully starved body.
You begging for your life,
How funny.

You took mine,
I take yours.
Eye for an eye.
Sores for sores.

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but now it's come to distances and both of us must try,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time,
walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me,
it's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the sea,

but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't
untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't
untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

You want to know the real me.

Be my friend. Be my crutch when I need support.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again...

I'll let you in. All you have to is ask.

I'm no stranger when you see what's inside my head.

I may be confused, delusional, and a little dangerous.
Look closely, and you'll find the better part of me.

You may like it, you may not, but if you don't cross that barrier.
You'll never get to find out who I really am.

Unless you take the invitation, you won't get the chance to discover that:

I am weak, I am strong.
I am talented, I am wrong.
I'm a paradox; I'm part of the demented.
I'm both optimistic and pessimistic.

I am extraordinary; I'm blessed with an altruistic heart.
I'm able to attentively listen with an open mind, open arms.
Able to discern what's really bothering you before you start speaking.
Able to make you smile without purposely meaning.

I am everything and all the above, not quite human, but well enough.

I could be the most incredible person in history.

What you see is a sample,
A taste, an example.

If you want to discover more,
Press onward.

I am incredible.

When I walk in the room,
and see you sitting there,
I can't help but stare,
at your beauty.

Your smile from ear to ear,
and your gorgeous eyes, my dear,
leave me with a feeling,
of elation.

But I can't help but feel,
that I am letting you down.
I know I'm not the definition,
of perfection.

But when I hear you say,
you love me,
I don't know whether to be glad,
or feel lucky.

But you, on the other hand,
you want perfect, there she stands.
Right in front of me,
as I kiss her lips softly.

I can never be,
all she wants me to be,
but I can try the best I can,
try to be a better man.

She loves me,
like no other.
So I will do all I can,
because I love her.

First, if I am comatose for a while pre-death, don't let them call me a fighter.
I'm probably not fighting it.
It's probably the first time I've been able to relax in a decade.

Second, keep my death off the internet.
Tell my friends of my demise with handwritten notes delivered by white-gloved butlers with somber expressions.
Tell my enemies by sitting on their chests and poking them in the forehead repeatedly until they guess how it happened. It shouldn't take long.

Third, my friends from high school will immediately try to design stickers for their car windows with my name on them and a graphic of dance shoes or track shoes or my college mascot.
You are not to allow this.
A sticker denoting the death of a loved one will not keep fellow motorists from noticing that my friends from high school **** at driving.

Not permitted at the funeral:
Gerber daisies
poetry
blue jeans
any ex-boyfriend I refer to by something other than their name (i.e. "the fat hipster I used to hang out with.")

Encouraged at the funeral:
Hugs - everyone must hug
lots of appropriately sad, yet tasteful songs sung by my musically-minded loved ones (may I suggest "In Light of Time" by Phillip E. Silvey?)
And make sure they bury me in the blue dress.

Last, for every story they tell about me where I was kind or selfless or funny or caring,
make sure someone also tells the story where I got too drunk at a frat house and made out with a kid from upstate New York and then spent four hours passed out and/or puking on the floor of the communal bathroom in Ashley's building,
or the one where I punched Savannah in third grade,
or the one where I rolled a car for no particular reason.

Remember me as I was.