You sing yourself to sleep in an ice cold tub,
Life is cheap and so is a gun,
You shiver and make love to your cigarette,
Tonight your going down wearing a tin can baret,
You know, opurtunity is a simple game of russian roulette,
And so you ponder life one last time,
The life youve just traded in for a dime,
Biting down on the barrel, its cold and it numbs your lips,
Its but an inevitable prophecy like the solar eclipse,
through the muffled silence; youre singing,
-"Please, don't wake me, no, don't shake me
Leave me where I am, I'm only sleeping"

Cracks in glasses
             on a screen
             on a gravestone
Drops of sweat
                          on me.
And you
               are the salt in the water of the ocean,
               can change the tides of the sea
                                                             ­      in a single wrist motion
I could never
                      comprehend why I was pushed away
                      stop from being pulled back in by the waves
                      avoid being smoothed down like sea glass
                                                           ­                   empty clam shells
What I know
                      I cannot tell you
                        will not admit
You are
              the fire
              the knot in the pit
of my stomach.

the years pile up gently
as snow upon snow pile up
on snow laden ground.
you wake up one morning
still with sleepy eyes
to see the view from your window
still the same
yet somewhat changed
from the landscape you saw before you went to bed last night.

you jog your head,
to drive away
the lingering laziness in your bones,
smiling at a half remembered dream
where you were flying through the sky
dodging the telephone and electrical wires
that crisscrossed the path of your flight,
and whispered a silent prayer,

you get up your bed.
reaching out with heavy limbs
to the pair of sandals
lying on the floor
and trudge out of your cozy room.

you look at the mirror
(at a landscape still unfamiliar?)
and frown
(or smile?)
at some added lines
creasing the sides of your eyes:
a view more subtly changed!

a year is gone,
another is on the run.
count your life if you may
in ages
old traditional way
but, mark it off proudly
with words:

painful, prayerful, purposeful,
incisive, iniquitous, imperial,
eclectic, electric, effervescent,
dolorous,  delirious, devious,
singular, simple, (sinful?),
frenzied, frivolous, feral,
tepid, tremulous, turbulent,
ludicrous, libidinous, lugubrious,
zany, zennish, zinged,
barbaric, beatific, bucolic,
and so on and so forth.

words that are sensual, soulful, spiritual,
     that moved your heart ,
     that moved our hearts.

words to remember you by.

be happy.
feel blessed.
it is your birthday!

Whispers suppressed her laughter,
It was an acknowledgable sentimental factor.
Shoves and tossings of her hair went unnoticed through the air.
Piece by Piece she witnessed.
Second by second she felt.
This was her life as she called it,
a warm September morning,
waiting for life's December.
Endless white snow.

The bruise on my arm grows darker each day.
Death is just below the surface.
Yellowing and turning a shade of purple.
Collecting and decaying.
The others will arrive.
Ready to replace.
A new army.

-AbbyB.

In movies
They make death sound so bad
Like its the end
But for me
Its my escape
From all the torture
From all the pain
From all the things that make me wish
I could just slit my throat
And every time
I pick up that razor
Or a hand full of pills
I always stop and wonder
Would it be worth it?
To have it all "end"
For me yes
And I always want to tell myself
It gets better
Or so I've heard
But it doesn't
It can't
And it won't
Because everything they say
Is tattooed on my arm
You just can't see it
Because what I do is different
But that doesn't mean I am different from them
I just have a better way of hiding it
It's all in the smile
Because once they see that
It's a green light from then on
They see it as the "ok"
To call me things
Things that are so minor
But are so major in my life
Those things are what keep me on the edge
Because if they saw
What I really feel
They would be shocked
But is death really the answer?
Yes
For me... It has to be
Because if it isn't
Then what is
Nothing
Death is the only way to escape
I just have to plan when
When to do it
When to leave
Because its forever
But
I already have my answer
So please don't try and stop me
Just give me my space
Because if you ask me why
My answer is...
Everyone

At last the secret is out,
as it always must come in the end,
the delicious story is ripe to tell
to tell to the intimate friend;
over the tea-cups and into the square
the tongues has its desire;
still waters run deep, my dear,
there's never smoke without fire.

Behind the corpse in the reservoir,
behind the ghost on the links,
behind the lady who dances
and the man who madly drinks,
under the look of fatigue
the attack of migraine and the sigh
there is always another story,
there is more than meets the eye.

For the clear voice suddenly singing,
high up in the convent wall,
the scent of the elder bushes,
the sporting prints in the hall,
the croquet matches in summer,
the handshake, the cough, the kiss,
there is always a wicked secret,
a private reason for this.