NotI want to pluck off every one of her petals and leave behind the shell of a flower.He loves me. I want to rip out every piece of his hairand make him ugly,so she won't call him beautiful anymore.He loves me not.
I Want to Get Out of HereI think I have grown in the shape of a squareThat is the shape of my box.My feet at my chest and my hands in my hairbound with no keys and no locks.Inside my box is cramped and tight,And when I breathe it rattles.During the daytime I see no lightIn here I fight no battles.My breath is stale and my hair is tangled,All I know is the dark.I fear that I am horribly mangledFrom living conditions so stark.I want to get out and see the oceanFor there is a world to see:The sun and the moon and the stars in motionAll laid out for me.Being stuck in a box is bad, I believeFor my muscles and my bonesBut my body might fall apart if I leave:This box is all I know.In here I feel little sorrow or painInside and out I'm numb.I feel not the wind, nor the cold, nor the rainIn silence, I am dumb.A terrible ache settles deep in my soulPast limbs twisted far backShut away from the world, I can never be whole:All that is living, I lack."How hateful, how horrid this box is!" I crie
hide and seekeveryone looks to the starsfor inspirationbut maybe if we focused moreon the grains of sandbeneath our feet we mightjust find something a littlemore original
seaside lettersone.i was never good at starting these thingstwo.did you know some flowersonly open at night?they must not be very afraidof the darki wish i could say the samethree.i can't light my candle anymore,maybe it's telling methat i should stop tryingi didn't really like that blisteron my thumb anywaysfour.i noticed that my veinswere the same color as the oceanand i made myself bleedmy veins lied and blood is red, not bluei guess i just thought i was differentfive.i wish you could read thesesix.i don't know how to write anymoreand i always knew this would happen sometime.but god why now?i still haven't figured out what i wanted to sayseven.this will be my last letter to youand i thought i'd let you knowthat i will never know what i wanted to sayi was never really good at ending these either
she didn't believe in anything but cigarettesmy mother tells me notto cry over spilled milkbut it makes it so mucheasier to forget aboutthe bloody bird layingdead on the bathroom tile
wendy was the lucky onedrowned by somberin a sea of atramentalemotions."black as November,"my mother saidhe went peacefullyin his sleep, they wept17 is too youngfor the hands of deathbut death reached anywaysi knew why he kepthis window open inbelow zero temperaturesand let the cold inevery nighti wonder if his tearsfroze to his cheeks
SonnetLike twisting wires our fingers now entwineOur speech so soft the wind can't overhearHis whispers somehow more sincere than mineI realize I don't want to be this nearHe says that he adores my every traitIs sure he sees no other god than meMy fondness for him simply can't equateA shallow pool against his endless seaI love him, wish him only happinessAs sister might to brother or to friendHis feelings suffocate me, I confessToo guilty now to bring about the endThe fault we two companions can't ignoreIn love, and yet one loves the other more.
i love you because you existjust two little boysplaying with matches,they started a spark icould feel in thepit of my stomach and babyare tongues are like daggers;each time we kiss it'sa sword fight i can neverquite win but there's stillsomething beautiful about theway you call me princess.maybe it's because you makeit believable or maybe it'sthe way this wildfireis devouring my being,leaving nothing but a desirefor the way you hold me
LungsMaybe ifour lungsexhaled moneyinstead ofcarbon dioxide,we'd valuelifea little more(or maybe we'd just go broke).