When all thoughts
Are exhausted
I slip into the woods
And gather
A pile of shepherd’s purse.

i wander thro' the golden street,
Near where i belong to,
And of all men, you are here

On every moment of my time
Most glamorousness
upon your breast

i sighed at you,
struggling in the midst of summer.
The invisible worm keep crawling in,
that scares all the devil mind in heaven

Over the faint red starlight
your voice most tender but it goes away.
the sound overpowers I start staring at you
in horror a full hour
to night
yet still more to come,
the last oozings

The warm days never cease
to set warps free
With a sweet canal later,
to swell the ground and plump the hazel shells

your oppression,
my depression
A struggle between
right and wrong
direction-less presence
facading happiness.

just tell me i will be missed,
my leaving will not be wished.

just one last kiss
one last glimpse,
what the future could hold
i feel it slipping away,
one last time.

If I were a sound
I would be the sound
of wind
forgotten amidst
the cacophony of life
but ever present
whipping through the trees
surrounding you
in the distant sound
of far away places

If I were an animal
I would be a mouse
quiet
so as not to be found
but living with you
in the wall
the floor
anywhere you won't look
I don't wish to be seen
so I scurry
living off the scraps
of my housemate

If I were a number
I would be the number
eleven
two thin lines
that are ignored when factoring
lost in the scramble
to scribble down notes
two lines that are
separate
but the same
and sometimes distant

If I were a person
I would be the person
in the back
head down
hair in my eyes
so no one sees
the truth that lies
in them
That I am
the wind
I am
a mouse
the number eleven
that I would be
in the back

But I'm not
because you put a hand up
to block the wind
bought a cat
to **** the mouse
were dividing by two
so didn't need eleven
and looked back
in class
and sneered
at the person there

People always say that diamonds are forever.
Well so are Mondays and so are stains,
And other things I'd name if I were more clever.
So I choose the rose to carry through the rains.
For what's more like love than something that dies,
And what's my love for you if not the act
Of washing out the vase and setting it to dry,
And then getting more -- yes, that's the pact --
For nothing's more like love than trying it again.
And today we'll kiss and tomorrow we'll cry,
But when we love again, well, it'll be a new rose then.
For this time you'll have set the vase out to dry,
And I will watch as you carefully make our bed,
And decide that I'd love to make it instead.