TWO loves had I. Now both are dead,
And both are marked by tombstones white.
The one stands in the churchyard near,
The other hid from mortal sight.

The name on one all men may read,        
And learn who lies beneath the stone;
The other name is written where
No eyes can read it but my own.

On one I plant a living flower,
And cherish it with loving hands;      
I shun the single withered leaf
That tells me where the other stands.

To that white tombstone on the hill
In summer days I often go;
From this white stone that nearer lies
I turn me with unuttered woe.

O God, I pray, if love must die,
And make no more of life a part,
Let witness be where all can see,
And not within a living heart.

there was nothing left there but meaningless letters
crawling all over the page
she played back the moment, the door slamming closed
trembling with all of her rage
she wracked her memory to find the words
that once she has heard someone say
'don't decide your forever based on feelings felt now'
and that was her very mistake

John Keats
John Keats
John
Please put your scarf on.

So I am Yin, and others are too.

Some are Yang, and I know not what they do.

But it is beautiful we are half of one

And not simply two.

Our bodies entwined in the glistening dew of the sun
Her lips met my own in such tender caress
She breathed her life into me
I gazed deeply into the wilderness of her eyes
As she consumed my soul
The forces of nature unleashed between us
Hearts beating like a runaway locomotive
The heat like a blistering furnace
The nails that pierced, the teeth that bit
The writhing, the screams, the clinching
The coolness of her lips
I breathe life back into her
I gazed deeply into the wilderness of her eyes
And I consumed her soul

All this pain
How can you regain
What you gave away?

Tears rolling down,
Feel you can’t go ‘round town
After what you’ve done
You wonder, “What have I become”?

They come, they go
Don’t let your tears flow
Until at night when your all alone
You feel ready to die, but no one can know

The one is here, right now
But after all the others, you don’t understand how
Why does he love you?
Doesn’t he know?

How can you believe?
Isn’t it easier for him to leave?
Now the tears fall down
It hits you: he’s been here, he knows


He’s seen your tears
He knows your fears
He knows what you’ve done
He doesn’t believe in what you feel you’ve become

He picks up your chin
Looks into your eyes and he says:
"Hold onto me
I’m not like those guys
I’ll be here for you
I’m on your side"

You want to runaway
But your pounding heart says to stay
Should you go? Escape maybe another stain?
What if you stay? Could he help break the pain?

He loves you for you
Not what you feel you have to do
He says:
“I love you. I’ll always be here for you. Forever”

When you walk alone at night
holding your head down low
raise you head, see the end plateau
upon which rests the lowly sparrow
And remember that
we are all under His protection.

The days pass
And the sunlight wheels along the wall
Spinning golden music through some days
And heaping cold white silence upon others
But always it comes
And always it goes
And always it changes everything.
What is a beautiful thought?
What does it take to have one and say it?
Must it rhyme, must it have a cadence
Or can it just fall free from the lips or the fingers
Or the eyelashes of someone whose days
Are stretching long like evening shadows
And whose nights are full of wishes on stars that are just far enough away
Not to recoil
From all that longing?

Tell me, what are dreams for?
The madnesses of a sleeping mind.
Why do they pierce so, what's behind them?
Tell me why the stars are just as far away when I'm asleep
As when I'm not?

I am a match that has been struck
But waits, frozen in that tiny space of time between
For years and years,
Defying physics and logic,
Yearning for a flame that is half finished gasping its first breath.
Someday it will leap upon me and I can feel its almost-heat,
But that day is not of my choosing,
And I have been struck
Struck many times
Without being incinerated.
I've been struck in every way-
Like a lone tree on a high hill
Like the dented head of a nail that, foolish, bent the wrong direction-
And I've always felt the heat
I've always felt the blows rain down
But I've never truly been on fire.

I want my bones to fill up with fever
I want every inch of me to be complete
None of these cold hollows and little nooks and edges
That let the wind whistle through- no
I have been struck more than enough times
And I'm begging life to let me burn.
Where are my days going?
I felt the thrill of flames in my heart
I felt hot metal in my veins- the stuff of stars-
And now I'm waiting
Slowing and stalling as it cools inside me
And the days are wheeling by on my walls
Like an ***** grinder's cart that pulls the sun along
And the only thing worse than being struck
Is being unable to ignite.

I am a cigarette to you.

You lit me up,
and I burned slowly,
and you enjoyed my simple highs,
and got dizzy from my insides.

You began to crave me,
addicted to the sensations I gave your mind,
reliant on the comfort I gave you.

But your fingers began to slip,
and I would burn you,
and I had no choice,
I was on fire.

Then I was nothing but a filter,
and you stomped me into the ground.

But in the end, I was killing you all along.