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NiTSUDD  Jun 2016
Alexandra
NiTSUDD Jun 2016
Well she came from up above
Must have heard the earthly calls
Every day she falls in love
And every night she falls

And the clouds rain down
Alexandra

Shes got much more to give
Than anyone can know
Shes got a place to live
But shes always on the go

Alexandra
The clouds rain
Alexandra

I could spot you when I walked in
You must have just came from the garden
Can you ever trust a man again?
I see dark clouds a closing in

Alexandra
Let her rain on you
Alexandra
Let her cleanse you too

I saw her in the moonlight
I was fast asleep
She stunned me with a sharp bite
She sunk her teeth so deep

I must've known that i was dreaming
Cause i didnt pull away
The others did run screaming
But i was here to stay

Alexandra
She knows just what to do
Alexandra
She's got me and she has you

Alexandra
I heard it as the wind blew
Alexandra
She's got me and she has you
Song
Nik Bland  Oct 2012
Alexandra
Nik Bland Oct 2012
Call me homeward, Alexandra, and see my heart stays true
Beyond the foamy ocean's grasp to where the skies of your eyes are blue
Look for me upon the clouds and call for me in a dream
Lead me home with a beacon whose light comes in steady streams

Call me homeward, Alexandra, and let no tear nor whimper escape
See the silver spoon that lies on my overflowing plate
Know that every gift that graces my hand reminds me of you
And know I look towards the horizon as I keep you in my view

Call me homeward, Alexandra, I await your sultry kiss
Walking on to find that you are my only form of bliss
Seeing you upon the shore as the wind combs through your hair
Whispering to you of how your love wishes he were there

Call me homeward, Alexandra, and I will not be long
Listening to your heart beckon with its harmonic song
I am on a distant shore, but in faith, my life is yours alone
For only when your call does cease will I find myself are home
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
i've been carrying this napkin with a scribble on it
since yesterday -
  obviously in the heimatspreschen -
chcem stanąć przed sędzią, który może
osądzić sędziów
- i.e.
    i want to stand before the judge, who can
pass judgement on all judges -
and a lesson for a few:
   e. e. cummings does not even tickle
orthography...
   noMatter howOrWhy you write so so,
and the not so... that's not orthography...
you don't get teach people orthography
with a language that has no diacritical
aesthetic... orthography goes hand in hand with
the application of diacritical marks,
and, since english has none: i consider
the interpretation of e. e. cummings'
works as: on the sly orthographic: absolute
diatribe.
        you want to know what orthography
looks like?
exhibit (a)
  chcem stanąć przed sędzią, który może
osądzić sędziów
- correct - orthodox -
exhibit (b)
hcem stanąć przed sędzią, ktury morze
osądzić sędziuw

esp. on the może (maybe)
  and morze (sea)...
                    that's orthography!
take your ****** little e. e. cummings
                                   ******* and... *******!

so much for an intro...
today i found myself in possession of a 6 zone
travel card...
   little essex boy went sightseeing into
london, his adventure would end at
alexandra palace, wood green,
  the piccadilly line, zone 3,
  so off little essex boy went,
got on the train from lil' market town into
liverpool st., started walking on the platform
thinking: thank **** no owls and quarters
and hidden passageways into & through
brick walls...
      as any wordsmith will tell you:
once you enter the urban environment proper,
you start to realise, well, a permanent
insignificance of your effort dawns on you,
how you're overshadowed by all the clogs
in the machinery of the civilised world...
   awe? far from it... i was barraged,
pulverised by the ant in an ant-topia -
or should i say: a utopia is a place where
there's a seemingly infinite demand for work,
not necessarily a seemingly infinite
supply for work, but certainly a demand for
work...
             the most ******* job has to exist
to accommodate the people -
  it doesn't have to, but is has to exist in
order to be a bit like housing space.
so i passed them, the train operators,
the ticket inspectors, the men on the tracks
improvising improvements from ilford to
stratford (manor park, forest gate, maryland
etc.) -
  it really didn't matter whether one worked
and two snoozed on the job -
  the idea perpetuated itself:
  if not actually doing anything:
**** it, act, look busy, or look perplexed
by some "unfathomable" obstacle,
most notably thought.
            oh you better believe me that i have
great respect for even the most menial
professions -
    or as i like to call them: flip flop hopping just
shy of heaven -
the daydreamers' jobs -
   ******'s on that till telling train tickets,
ever so often waking up by an imaginary
coconut falling on his head when
a new customer arrives and wakes the
**** up.
                      london... ah, what a place...
someone once said you're never a meter away
from a rat on these streets...
   no ****, and half a meter from a rat with wings
and probably an eager tourist feeding these
"penguins"...
                    but i took the trip because
i thought i'd feel inspired, change of environment,
like: i honestly can't remember the last
time i sat on a bus, or a train, or the tube...
       me in a sitting position,
inside a belly of some mechanical diesel
caterpillar...
                       just for the occasion i thought i'd
dress up, put on a pair of socks and a pair of jeans...
well, i thought: these londoners can't suspect me
coming from the home counties...
gotta look the part, in some remote way...
fat face attire all, from the waist up;
                      but the people in their number
and disorientation hit be like a saharan gust
of wind, remnants of a hurricane -
                 everywhere i turned at liverpool st.
there was either a zombie apocalypse,
or some crack-******* ***** late for a train...
          i got some fine red wine prior to
the expedition...
               and so i headed to alexandra palace...
why? well... it looked mighty fine 11 years ago
from the rooftop of the scottish widows h.q.
near st. pauls...
         sitting pretty on top of a hill...
  so i got there, ensuring i let the arsenal fans
get the first two trains from st. pancreas to
pass me by, extending my wait for about 10 minutes...
    who was arsenal playing today?
tottenham? the punters on the train said:
2 - nil.
           don't know the score.
             so i got to wood green...
no one actually said there was a hill to climb!
  **** it, i climbed it, and when i got to the top...
to be honest, alexandra palace looks more
spectacular from a distance akin to st. paul's
on the 19th floor...
        it actually looks bigger from that sort of
distance...
          but i reached the top, and still had my wine,
and i even brought with myself a glass...
so i opened the bottle and began to forget
the initial: the **** am i doing next to
alexandra palace?!
            shouldn't i be sitting comfortably finishing
the second season of versailles at home?!
ah... never mind... so i drank the wine and
became shocked at the horizon before me...
as a connoisseur of drinking partners -
yes, you might have suspected all along,
i was drinking the wine alone... aha! but i wasn't:
i was drinking a bottle of wine, with, the view;
on the up side, the view from alexandra palace
is so much better than the view from
primrose hill - sure, maybe st. paul's isn't
visible, and you get to see much more of
the ferris wheel by the thames -
      but when it comes to a drinking buddy -
the view from alexandra palace is so much
better than the view from primrose hill.
           - and as ever, a highlight from the voyage,
helping god disguised as an old lady in
a hindi shawl with her shopping -
   in one of those wheely bags... down
the escalator, onto the tube, then off the tube...
  why did i imply god disguised as an old lady,
she said she's 70, i compliment her that she
looks 60... and believe me... that bag of hers
weighed about 30 / 40 kg...
                       and then back to romford,
for a quick pint of guinness on romford high st.,
aah... home... home with the "****"...
with the sort of people that make sense -
                  born and bred and sooner or later
to be dead...
                     at least this apparent
"*******" is not as much a farce as the entirety of
london put together...
            i can feel at home here,
mind you, a pint of guinness costs 3.15 over here,
which isn't exactly extortion down by
liverpool st. at 5 quid a pop.
           london used to make sense once,
even for me, but these days -
     it's just a ouroboros -
                  it's in its own stratosphere of "busy",
******* jobs, ******* rent,
        and as much as any noah's arc translated
into a city state as you can think of,
with only rats on board...
           but when you stand on either primrose
hill, or next to alexandra palace,
with a bottle of wine and your drinking
buddy that's the view -
            you can only start citing bilbo baggins:
i feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter
  scraped over too much bread;
   because that's what london is: superficial -
which is why i immediately known what
i'm going to get when i step onto
the romford high street...
        sooner or later it's all going to turn
into superficiality central, the mimic cities
of l.a. (and thank ****, that i can only imagine
this to be the case of said imitation).
Jacob Mayhew Nov 2012
One last chance, one last page to tell you how things stand.
More than anything else
I am thankful for all that time together, it was well spent.
Still I wish you could just stay and hold my hand
Until the world calls;
And then just tell it we will need more time lent.

If this somehow works, I want to be with you more,
Let everyone know.
'I will give you everything if only you will have me.'
Don't worry about what's on the other side of that door,
It will come in time.
Right now I must try to make you see all that we could be.

I first met you in the woods, that trip was sublime,
How blessed is nature!
You knew what you were about, it showed.
I learned that you too liked to hike, commune, and climb.
You seemed ethereal.
My appreciation of you, from there, never slowed.

It started that first night you came over here,
I was told we seemed
To go well together. I said you were taken, no hope.
Then I started to think on it. Things became less clear.
We grew close.
And the we had that talk, which made the slippery *****.

The release of our tension was an avalanche cascade:
Beautiful and terrifying.
You said you wanted to get to know me better,
Everything then made me so afraid,
But I spoke.
You know now who I am, word and letter.

I can't say that I know you though, always hesitant,
Holding back.
Afraid of pain, and no one could put you at fault.
Bu your recklessness is almost militant!
Different lifestyles,
So hard to mix, your heart behind a steel vault.

You are the Turks to my Constantinopilian walls,
The first to make it in,
To destroy all defenses, break your way to the heart.
I guess the walls must be rebuilt, the buildings and halls,
To store the secrets,
And hide the shattered parts.

One gate will always be open to you, if you need.
We did too much
For me to lock you out, I can merely run for a bit.
I don't know enough to take the lead,
Is that the problem?
Should I take what I have and run with it?

'If you love something give it away...'
I don't want to!
But if that is the way of the world
There is really nothing I can say.
This ship is adrift
My sails are open, completely unfurled...

But right now there is no gust--no breeze-- no wind--
I am stuck.
Is this a curse? Did I shoot my albatross?
I would take you out, but I have no money left to spend!
Would you if I could?
Confound it, more empirical data. This is my loss.

I am nearing the end now, almost done,
A bit left to say.
I just don't want to miss anything of import.
You understand don't you? You needn't run,
It's nearly your turn!
Then I'll see if I come up short.

I can feel it inside, deep down, the answer to what I asked.
he dull grey hour
Here and full of excitement! Oh the hazards of love...
They open up, in front and behind, so cast,
I knew it all the while.
I'm excited, in a strange way, kind of.

Perhaps now the sleepless nights can end?
It's 4 o'clock again.
I have work in 5 hours, but sleep won't come.
It never comes when needed, nor does it pretend.
Trust, can I trust you?
That's unfair, isn't it? It's just me that is a slum.

The question, in case you forgot, is rather simplistic,
Yet infinitely complex!
One of those with which you expect a cacophony
In answer. But to be realistic,
There is but one word,
or a few. No long and dreary monophony.

So, Alexandra, will you be mine?
And I yours?
The two of us alone, exclusive, loyal, and trustworthy.
"No"
judy smith Jul 2016
The 9.6 million followers who tune in to watch Miranda Kerr having her hair done on Instagram — for this is how models spend most of their time — were treated to a rather more interesting sight last Thursday: a black and white photograph of a whacking great diamond ring.

Across it was the caption “Marry me!” and a twee animation of the tech mogul Evan Spiegel on bended knee. Underneath Kerr had typed “I said yes!!!” and an explosion of heart emojis.

A spokesman for Spiegel, founder of the Snapchat mobile app, who is 26 to Kerr’s 33 and worth $US 2.1 billion to her $US 42.5 million , revealed “they are very happy”.

At first, the marriage seems an unlikely combination: a man so bright he founded Snapchat while still at Stanford University, becoming one of the world’s youngest self-made billionaires by 22, and a Victoria’s Secret model who was previously married to the Pirates of the Caribbean star Orlando Bloom (she allegedly had a fling with pop brat Justin Bieber, leading Bloom to punch Beebs in a posh Ibiza restaurant).

Perhaps the union indicates that there is more to Kerr than we thought. More likely, it reveals something about Spiegel — and the way the social status of “geeks” has changed.

Since Steve Jobs made computers cool and Millennials started living online, nerds are king. Even coding is **** enough for the model Karlie Kloss, singer will.i.am and actor Ashton Kutcher to learn it. Silicon Valley has become the new Hollywood, as moguls and social media barons take over from film stars and sportsmen not just on rich lists, but as alpha men.

Being a co-founder of a company is this decade’s equivalent to being a rock star or a chef. And, if their attractiveness to models and actresses proves anything, then being a Twag — tech wife or girlfriend — is a “thing”. Sources tell me Twags are also known as “founder-hounders” because they like to date the creators of start-up companies.

Actress Talulah Riley was an early adopter. She started dating the PayPal founder Elon Musk in 2008. Riley, then fresh from starring in the St Trinian’s film, met Musk in London’s Whisky Mist nightclub after he had delivered a lecture at the Royal Aeronautical Society. I interviewed her shortly afterwards and she told me they had spent the evening talking about “quantum physics”. A month later they were engaged. Their on-again-off-again marriage lasted six years before she filed for divorce again in March. Currently Musk, worth an estimated $US 12.7 billion and focused on Tesla cars, is said to be “spending a lot of time” with Johnny Depp’s estranged wife, Amber Heard.

Model Lily Cole dated the Twitter founder Jack Dorsey in 2013. Later she had a son with Kwame Ferreira, founder of the digital innovation agency Kwamecorp. Actress Emma Watson is going out with William Knight, an “adventurer” who has an incredibly boringly sounding job as a senior manager at Medallia, a software company. Allison Williams, Marnie in the HBO television show Girls, is married to Ricky Van Veen, co-founder of College Humor website.

Could it be that these women are onto something? Dating a bro certainly has its appeal. They are innovative: how else would they invent apps that deliver cheese toasties or match singles based on their haircuts? They are risk-takers who must be charismatic enough to inspire investors and attract crowd-funding. They may not be gym-fit, but they are mathletes who can do your tax bill. They are animal lovers: every start-up is dog friendly. And they are fun: who would not want to date somebody with a ball pool in their office?

There is a saying about dating in Silicon Valley: the odds are good but the goods are odd. Nerds are notorious for peculiar chat-up lines and normcore clothes. Still, if geeks can be awkward, that is part of their charm. Keira Knightley, complaining that Silicon Valley was all men in hoodies and Crocs, described how one gave her his card, saying she should get in touch if she wanted to see a spaceship.

One Vogue writer recalled a Silicon Valley man messaging her via a dating app, in which he noted: “In 50 per cent of your photos you’re holding an iPhone. It may interest you to find out that I invented the iPhone. More accurately I was an engineer on the original iPhone . . .”

Most promisingly, some guys are astoundingly rich. It is suggested Kerr’s engagement ring is a 2.5-carat diamond worth around dollars 55,000. She has already moved into Spiegel’s dollars 12m LA pad. Between his money and her Victoria’s Secrets bridesmaids, no wonder sources claim they are planning an “extravagant wedding”.

It might rival even the Napster founder Sean Parker’s $US10m performance-art bash. He married songwriter Alexandra Lenas in a canopy among Big Sur’s redwoods decorated to look like an enchanted forest. Some 350 guests wore Tolkienesque costumes created by The Lord of the Rings costume designer Ngila Dickson. They sat on white fur rugs and were given bunnies to pet. Presumably rabbit babysitters were on hand when the disco started.

If such fantasies inspire you to become a Twag, the great news is you do not have to be a supermodel to be in with a chance. Such is the dearth of single women in Silicon Valley that one dating site, Dating Ring, crowdfunded a plane to fly single women to Palo Alto from New York.

Be warned, though: guys are single because they are married to the job.

No wonder most meet their partners at college or work — the Facebook chief executive Mark Zuckerberg met his wife, Priscilla Chan, at Harvard.

The Instagram co-founder Kevin Systrom met girlfriend Nicole Schuetz at Stanford. Melinda met Bill Gates when, in 1987, they sat next to each other at an Expo trade-fair dinner. “He was funnier than I expected him to be,” she said.

Kerr began dating Spiegel in 2014 after meeting him at a Louis Vuitton dinner in New York. You can bet he was networking. Shortly after Louis Vuitton showcased their cruise collection in a Snapchat story. Last season Snapchat went on to become the biggest new name at NY fashion week.

If you want to meet tech guys, you might catch them at Silicon Valley parties, which is how the Uber chief executive Travis Kalanick met his partner, Gabi Holzwarth, a violinist hired to play. Or they might be schmoozing clients downtown in a swanky Noe Valley club in San Francisco or a boring Union Square hotel in New York. In London you find them around Old Street, aka Silicon Roundabout, in bars, at hackathons, or start-up meet-ups. In the day they are coding at Google Campus or practising their pitching in a co-working space.

Some tech boys date the old-fashioned way: on Tinder. Airbnb founder Brian Chesky met his girlfriend of three years, Elissa Patel, through the app. When I interviewed Instagram co-founder Systrom he admitted that when he had been single he had signed up.

Dating agency Linx — presumably a play on operating system Linux — is dedicated to making Silicon Valley matches. Amy Andersen set it up in 2003 after moving to Palo Alto and being “flabbergasted” by the number of eligible men. She claims her clients are “extremely dynamic and successful individuals’’: tech founders, tech chief executives, financier founding partners of large institutions and “tons of entrepreneurs”.

Andersen says tech guys make “fabulous partners”. Romantic and chivalrous, they write love letters, plan dates, “even proposing on Snapchat!” If you want to marry a tech billionaire, she says, “you need to bring your A game.” Her clients look “for women who are equally, if not more, dynamic and interesting than he is!”

There are drawbacks to dating tech guys. Before Google buys your amore’s business, he will be living on *** Noodles waiting for the next round of funding — and workaholics are dull.

Kerr says Spiegel is “25, but he acts like he’s 50. He’s not out partying. He goes to work in Venice [Beach], he comes home. We don’t go out. We’d rather be at home and have dinner, go to bed early.” Which might suit Kerr, but is not my idea of a fun.

You had also better be prepared to share your life. When Priscilla Chan miscarried three times, Mark Zuckerberg wrote about it on Facebook, while Chesky used a romantic trip with his girlfriend to promote Airbnb - uploading a picture of her in bed, with a note saying “f* hotels”. Besides all of which is the notorious issue of Silicon Valley sexism.

It has a chief exec-bro culture that puts pick-up artist/comedian Dapper Laughs to shame. Ninety per cent of women working in the Valley say they have witnessed sexist behaviour, 60 per cent have experienced unwanted ****** advances at work, two thirds of them from their boss. Whitney Wolfe, a co-founder of Tinder, took Justin Mateen to court for ****** harassment. Her lawsuit against the company alleged that Mateen, her former partner, sent text messages calling her a “*****”.

Spiegel has tech bro form. He apologised after emails from his days at Stanford emerged: missives about stripper poles, getting black-out drunk, shooting lasers at “fat chicks”, and promising to “roll a blunt for whoever sees the most **** tonight (Sunday)”. After one fraternity Hawaiian luau party, he signed off emails “f*
bitchesgetleid”.

No wonder some women are not inspired to become Twags. Especially when you could be a tech billionaire yourself. Would you not rather be Sheryl Sandberg, chief operating officer of Facebook, than married to the boss?Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
Alexandra Mor Mar 2015
Intimate surprises
spun
from thin air.

Precious metals
forged
to last an eternity.

Unwavering.
Uncompromising.
Unapologetically bold.
Unlike anything else.

The incomparable thrill
of one-of-a-kind.*

                        / *Alexandra Mor
All right reserved to Alexandra Mor LLC
blankpoems Sep 2013
I am Lex
And I am Alexandra.
I am not “baby” or “darling”.

I have more flies in my house than friends.

I am eighteen years old
But I feel as though the number should have an extra zero.

I am a student in more ways than one; of school, of the universe, of the stars in the night sky that I used to swear you hung all on your own for my eyes-
my gray-blue eyes with specks of yellow light around the pupils that make it look like I have always just been dancing in the street lights.

My pupils expand like black holes when my serotonin levels even out.

I am so short that I could pass as a pixie.
Five feet and one inch of metaphors that are so deeply rooted into my bones.
My ribcage knows truth like you placed it in my lungs for me to breathe in.

My hair is so indecisive, it changes colour biweekly.
I was born blonde.
My brother was born blue with a cord around his neck.

Every night before he goes to sleep he asks me to scratch his back.
I am older than he.
I feel that I am older than most.

I like old things.
If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.
I need someone with an old soul, I’m all Elvis and vinyl and Marilyn Monroe.
I could listen to Paul Simon’s “Live Rhymin’” on phonograph until I drop dead.

I wish it were winter all year long
But I don’t like being cold.

I collect tattoos like fireflies in mason jars.

I’m on pills that are supposed to make me happy.
I don’t think I’ve been happy since 2009
and I miss Her every day.

I’m more scared of life than death
but I no longer want to embrace dying.
Sometimes you forget to breathe just for a second, and then you realize
what you would be missing.

I think my depression is sort of like that.
It’s like being a bird and you’re the only one that can’t fly.

Nonetheless, I wish for stillness.
For peace, for fun in flatlines.
I wish for summer days by the lake
and no cell phone service.

I yearn for California.

I love reading so much that if I got paid for it,
I’d be a billionaire by now.
If you look into my eyes you could probably see traces of Sylvia Plath.

I wonder sometimes why she stuck her head in that oven.

I like vegetarian sushi, so basically just vegetables.
I was a vegetarian for a long while but then I decided that I wanted a hot dog.
I still regret that sometimes.

I’m afraid of frogs but nothing else.
I like to watch scary movies with the lights off.
I love to sleep, but I’m an insomniac.
And most of the time Melatonin doesn’t even knock me out.

I don’t believe in God but I believe in ghosts.
I don’t believe in hell but for Her sake, I hope there’s a heaven.
I believe in science but the class makes me want to rip my eyes out.
Except if it’s astronomy.

My parents usually depress me.

I believe purely in art.
Give me art or give me death.

I want to be a poet.
I want a living poet society.
My name is Lex
And this is 2013.
this was my first assignment for university english
based loosely on "Ellie" poem by Lea Wait
Brian Oarr Jul 2012
Put on the old LPs tonight, Alex,
from a time long before you were born.
Top of the queue was Petula Clark
belting out Don't Give Up,
defiant as an alley cat in a street fight.

Remembered how in her heyday,
she'd been forced to conceal
the fact that she was married ---
all performers being mysteriously
virginal in those days.

Thoughts segue several years
to my time in the service and
a female lieutenant who was my OIC.
Served a 20 year career,
but never knew a finer officer.

She realized leadership was saying
the things that made you want to follow.
Just after making captain,
due to pregnancy, she was forced
to terminate her service career.

Today, women routinely travel in space,
perform extreme surgeries,
design skyscrappers;
one just might become president.

And somewhere in the tenements of NYC
a young poet spins metaphor
straight from the streets and the cosmos,
constructing a world in lines
we'd all wish to enter.
Written for a talented 18/yo internet poet
Jacob Mayhew Nov 2012
I'm hyper and really just want to write,
I tried to write you a Sestina,
But those old forms of poems are really hard to stick.
So instead I thought I might
Be able to show you something new;
Something that hopefully won't make you sick.

You see, it's 4 o'clock in the morning now,
And I have too much energy,
Perhaps it's just the spiced wine and tea.
I wish we were on a ship's bow
So i could hold you up
And let you watch the waves of the sea

Crash against the boat. But we aren't on a ship,
or near the ocean, or even together.
Not yet anyway, though perhaps one day we will.
We were each supposed to place a pack upon our hip
and hit the woods for a while.
That didn't work out. But it's all good still,

Because that was only once chance in a thousand!
Every day there are tons of chances.
Perhaps we can go sometime to the woods,
Just us, and the sky, walking over all that solitary land.
Then at night, when the moon comes out,
We say goodnight and cuddle, if you would?

I want my energy back, this ****** illness took it away
And I'm just not right without it.
I think I'm losing you to someone, that you're almost gone.
I thin about it a lot, when I'm awake, almost every day.
It hurts everywhere, not just the heart.
I care too much, and fear that your anger has been drawn

Out by my constant want to see you, or hear your voice.
So I tell myself not to talk,
Because you don't want to respond: -- but then you smile.
When you smile I no longer have a choice,
I have to talk.
It compels my very soul to talk; and write; and go that extra mile.

Then I realize that I am lost in a world I do not know.
That the extra mile no where near me,
So I can't possibly run far enough to go down it.
I just want very badly to be able to go
For you.
Though this is something to you I can't admit.

We don't talk much any more, or hang out,
or do anything really.
I bet it is my fault, that I did something to you,
Because it is always me that is such a clout.
What did I do?
Is it because I kissed you when you had the flu?

I said I didn't care and kissed you when you were sick
because I thought... I thought
It might have made you happy knowing that I didn't care.
But I guess that didn't matter, it just showed that I am thick
and oafish where you're concerned.
Though I'm glad you decided to come over to my lair,

At least that once, two weeks ago, when last we really kissed.
Don't worry, no one will see this,
It is too real, has to much of me in it, and too much of you.
We talked a lot, you learned me, and let me learn you, and that will be missed.
If you decided that I must leave,
I will listen, whatever you say, though for a while I will be blue.

I am jealous of the other that you see when you want.
It angers me, but
That was the deal we made that day:
That I would wait, and keep my emotions gaunt
So you could have you fun.
And I just want to be serious, and date you in every way.

I don't know what all that means, but I will be here.
If I leave you now
No one else will come along for me.
So I will wait right over there,
You see that corner?
Yes, the one by the tree is where I will be.

So please (please), just come sit with me and talk,
And hold my hand.
I need to know what love is.

— The End —