100-150 NumberOneHundred So close, yet so far apart. arm in arms linking us together. But one still missing the most important one of all Me. Me that has the trust love friendship joy faith just not really there not noticed. Left out pushed away screamed at. 'Your not wanted.' 'No one remembers you' 'Just sit there weeper girl cry all you want, no one here cares.' Lost in my web of words and feelings I go home and scream. cry weep morn all alone. No hugs no touches no soft arms. Just me and my crushed feelings. No one knows i'm not there being pushed away. No one knows I have stooped trying cuz it hurt so bad that all so important link in the chain. They just tromp on arm in arm without me. I can't tell you how bad that hurts. I can't seem to shed enough tears of fear loneliness and hatred. I cry for hours, I watch them tromp along without me. arm in arm
NumberOnehundredOne in my web of words and poems sentence fragments seem to shatter and short lines seem to be the rule. maybe i am afraid to write too long because you won't bother reading. maybe you never read these anyway and i should type as long and as long and as long as i want and not worry about the comfort of the reader or the way i string words together in a stream of incoherentness and i shouldn't worry if i even spell words right and i should definitly never pause to edit but i write so there is something to read. and i write because you are the you i write to. and i want you to read. so i write. NumberOneHundredTwo I want... you to read,
See each letter purely, fully
Hear the music in your mind accompany...
Overflowing like the river of a Cat Stevens song.
My first word, like most, an observation,
I saw the colored lights of Christmas
So I said:
"Pretty lights... pretty lights."
My first words.
Not mom.
Not dad.
I perceive beauty.
I see life, that is what I am here,
And to find it, I needn t look far.
I can hear it in the distance, in the form of piano music.
Ahhhh the crescendo builds! Breaking through the shimmering quiet of the previous strain I feel it ripple through my body, leaving no particle unstirred. I know now why music touches the soul, if only for the fact that it has no choice. I can see it near in the form of a poem on the computer screen and sheet of paper. The dust blows like a frenetic devil who s grown cold with time, the time that made this world the time that took the wind to travel a million miles. The road is long. The arches of stone mark my passing and they will stay for awhile, to tell by passers that I came, and I went, just as they will with the earth says that it is time for them to go. I am like the arches except that I don t know where I will be taken. I can close my eyes and clear my mind And see the kaleidoscope of silence. Be with me as I see the world around me. Breathe in and out, Deeply, As you feel it in my company. Make it your own The world is only how you see it. Pretty lights. Remember (#103) remember the times i kissed you with my warm lips
remember the times i huged you with all my arms
remember my soft tuches accross your cheek
remember our times....together....as us....
just pleas
forget the words I hate you
forget the words I love you
forget all our happy times together as you and i
(just still remember them.)
(just still keep them.)
(just still love them as you did to me)
forget me time and time again
but always remember the words 'i cared'
but i will run
screaming
yelling
crying
begging
if you forget the hurt you did.
I can close my eyes and clear my mind
(still) (somewhat)
but yet still see the you i once loved
(maybe always?)
Number OneHundredFour I have this tendency
to lose myself
on the way somewhere
or even when I'm not going anyplace.
I leave me on the side of roads
chatting with birds about the flowers
or with a river, floating
sometimes I end up perched in trees
(or on top of traffic lights)
At any rate, I
forget me time and time again
Sometimes,
I wonder where I go
once I've realized I'm gone
(most of the time I can't remember leaving myself anywhere)
but usually
I just shrug, and
assume
I'll be back.
Sometime.
Which, usually, I am. Sometimes, though,
I leave myself
(at a tree, or with a bird, or a river)
and only part of me comes back
(apparently, the part of me I lost
is also capable
of losing pieces)
and then I wonder where it went
and what it's doing now
and whether it, too, can
lose pieces of me (or is it someone else, now? (who knows?))
and whether other people do this, too
this losing track of themselves
which leads me to think
that possibly
everybody's pieces
of everything
and nobody was ever whole
to begin with.
NumberOneOhFive To begin with, Make an s-shaped knot. (Easier said than done. I have to pass the rope over and under the wrong lines a few times Before I finally get the right formation.) Now wrap it around a thick stick. (I don't have any thick sticks. There's my rain stick, but... It's hollow. Will it do?) Now brace your feet against the wood (Taking care not to bump the goat-skin against the floor) Aaaannnnd... Pull! (Ernk, argh, raaaah!) I did it! Oh, that's satisfying! I did perfectly! And I got a nice rope burn in the process. How hard, you may ask, can it possibly be To tune an African drum? Heheh.
room #106 Now brace your feet against the wood and pull. Pull harder! Your a -girl- you can /do/ this. Pull pull pull!!! Get it? Or is it back to start again? Back? Back. Back to start for you. But you will get there. (somehow) (some way) We always do. Here lets do it lets pull harder like we have never pulled before... harder!!!! There we go! I/we/us got it!!! We have gotten it. It you ask? It is freedom we have pulled out. Sweet soft /freedom/. From all the pulling and heaving and weezing we get freedom... Mmmmm sweet.... ......... ........ ..... ... .. . now what?
Number OneOhSix Since I was small,
My mother has always told me
things about being an Adult,
and a Woman,
and a Mother.
Never has she talked about these things
as if I could do them right now
She will say how hard this will be, to be
A Woman,
An Adult,
A Mother,
and then she says
"But you will get there."
Now, when I think, personally, I know a bit
about being
A woman,
and an adult
(the mother, not yet. No hurry)
the funny thing is
her lines haven't changed
she still speaks about
Womanhood and
Adulthood
as though
I will not know about these things
for some time yet.
This confuses me.
Usually, now
when she talks of Woman and Adult
I shrug her off, since she shrugs me off.
Perhaps, though, I should teach her to be
A Girl,
A Child,
A Daughter.
(since she has forgotten, I think)
I wonder if she'd like that?
Number OneOhSeven (since she has forgotten, I think this means she remembers.) And I am sorry. Or, I am sorry I do not if I am sorry. But it is most definitely raining
on
my mother (who takes this as an affrontry,
ducking inbetween drops)
&
me (who tries to look into her eyes.)
If
only
every
drop
made her less afraid of being vulnerable.
NumberOneOhEight eyes are glazed with sugar, pink and slick and your arms sliiiide across my waist and my identity is gone like sugar cubes in soda i am used to being that little bit of carbonation. the little bit of tingle in the back of everybody's throat right now i feel like they are laughing it, loving it but i know the time will come when they swallow and swallow and giggle and i will disappear. --RoyaBoya Numbah One-Oh-Nine, yeah.... And my identity is gone, I have become my inhalation & exhalation. I have become my smile. I have become my steps. Printing love across the earth.
Number OneTen inhalation and
exhalation,
yes,
I think I can remember to do that
(though I don't know, sometimes,
how I do)
I'm glad, just now,
that breathing
takes so little effort -
and I would rejoice
(if I thought to)
that it is so
delightfully automatic.
The Number One Onety One I think I can remember to do that
(but im never quiet sure.)
i think i can remember that this is the life i have.
its up to me
no more down hill
its all hard now.
No more pushes from behind
its just me
and my bike
to go up the mountain
the mountain of
life.
but what if i fall?
(I think I can remember that too)
fall
down
down
down
crash and burn?
(I don't wanna burn more baby no more for me.)
Well then im burnt
(oh God.)
But nothing can touch me
nothing can burn these hands.
'Sept you.
'Sept you and your words.
But not even you can touch my lips
nothing can burn me now baby not even you.
(I hope...)
(...I pray)
I'm strong
strong like nails,
strong like steel,
but yet still week like a baby.
I still cry at night,
I still see the flashes of the knife on my skin.
(Oh no back away knife. don't touch me more.)
I still sleep with my tedy bear
(Aaaa there we go..)
I still need touch
just not from you.
(We did that once lets not forget)
I still _need_ the touch.
The touch i know i wont get,
the tuches i cant get,
the tuched i don't want.
But yet
I still want it.
(I think I can remember that too)
(i think i want to forget that but -i shall never-)
Number OneTwelve I still sleep with my teddy bear
Well, no, I don't,
Actually
I sleep with my stuffed dog instead
Supposedly,
only small children
Do this,
(rely on them for comfort)
the rest of us
(surely I can't be the only one)
are simply weak.
but what, really, does weak mean? No matter whether you have a bear with you in times of trouble or whether you prefer to stand without nights are still scary and they still take courage to live through.
NumberOneThirteen you prefer to stand without your two legs turning into four. but sometimes you need a few extra arms around you. does this make you needy? does this make you desperate? knowing how much warmer you can be with more around you, but how much slower you will move. NumberOneFourteen how much slower will you move if i held tight to you, pinned your arms against your sides and kissed your cheeks? but that's not really a question i should ask myself. the question is am i willing to hold you tight? because it will slow my movement too and i hate it when i am not a blur. so fast your eyes water watching. but the point is, you don't know what you want to hold you you can't see what i'm like when i slow down. you might grab for what's racing past you but i don't think you'll like it when you are forced to read poems that go slower than you will when i am holding on and dragging behind you i don't want to hold anyone back. The time is 115....
and
You can't see
my graceful tears fall.
You cant see
my cracked heart.
You cant see
my untearstained face.
You cant see
Me
You
or the old old us.
You cant see
my mouth gag.
You cant see
my lips tuching others.
You just cant see.
I wish you could,
but i know you cant.
your away now..
far
far
far
away.
But the distance in between us hurts.
(still)
Hurts like nouthen i can say.
All i can do is learn
learn
to
let
go
NumberOneSixteen Let go, I know Know that this place is hurting me She fled the year before last And I watched her dance away Saying silently that she'd never Ever come back. I am shy in the wind Moldable like clay, way too breakable, Capable of great strength, however fragile Magical like broken dolls, in the attic Shattered if I remain there. I exist to run! Run on the railroad tracks next to smashed weeds seeds of cocoa-colored bottles mottled with tragic, however numbed tragic dreams that succumbed to our passing apathy love is my death and death is my love.. Will I run fast enough?
NumberOneSeventeen faster faster
go
go
go
run
run
run
keep going
they will see you if you stop
Will I run fast enough?
i wonder
i dont wanna run no more
my legs are tired and
my back hurts
i wanna stop
i wanna lie down and Die
im as good as dead by now
'stop running for my life'
i hear a shrill voice inside me
oh sure thats easy to say
your not running for your life
but i guess its for a good cause..
the cause is my life..
NumberOneEighteen I hear you say 'oh sure, that's easy to say you hold all the high cards' well, that might be true - and maybe it isn't fair but somebody has to have the high cards and if it's me then, all I can do is play them gently.
NumberOneNineteen all i have is this song to sing all i have is all i can bring all i have is all i'll ever know all i have is all i must let go all i have are these notes to play and all i can do is play them gently ~jenny NumberOneTwenty all i have is this song. this one little song that sings with so much air escaping with each note because it's just so damn tired. all i have is this song that tears up when it gets to that certain verse even though the bridge is my favorite part to sing. if i had the sweetest voice i bet you'd turn away because you wanted something with a bit more edge. but if i had that edge i bet you'd say you wanted someone soft with scented hair and long fingers. maybe someone who was a good, nice, sweet person. and tonight i am none of those things. just another harsh voice rattling the window in a pathetic attempt to learn the way you live. Number OneTwentyOne Can I come and see you tonight? I'll slip in your back door
(I have the key)
and creep in
on whatever you're doing,
okay?
I'll watch you for a day or two,
see you
take out your garbage
wash your dishes
walk around your house
bathe in your bathtub
when I've learned to
learn the way you live
I'll slide in, like butter
coast into your life -
make it part of mine
and once it's ours
I'll
take out your garbage
wash your dishes
walk around your house
bathe in your bathtub
is that okay with you?
122
Every tear i shed,
i do outta you.
Every tast i feel,
i do outta you.
Every scair i put on myself,
i do outta you.
Every bad word i scream,
i do outta you.
Every drop of blood that comes out of my fist,
i do outta you.
Every memiore,
Every feer,
Every song,
Every kiss...
i do outta you.
Now all i have to wounder
is that okay with you?
NumberOneTwoThree "Nice out today, isn't it?" you said. "More like June than April," I answered. I'd never seen you before. That could have been all we said. I could have walked away then, Or at any other time in the next minute or two, And you still would have been just another pleasant person Enjoying the improvement in our climate. Instead I stayed while you kept going, Your sixty-plus years' worth of thoughts and opinions slipping out into the air between us, And I didn't mind until the hate started slithering out from between your lips. You didn't see it as hate, of course. To you, it was pity, sympathy, concern for lost souls. But suddenly there was so much more between us than the warm air. And I just stood there and said as little as possible, Too angry to think of what I could say, Too afraid to say what I should. I finally got away from you and kept going down the street, Gagging on my own silence. Now all I have to wonder Is whether you thought I agreed with you Because I gave so very little reply to your repulsive little speech. That scares me more than anything else about you.
Number OneTwentyFour I can't believe I did that -
just stood,
and said as little as possible
while you ripped
at me
(well, it should have been me)
I was too angry to think of what I could say (and when I thought of it, I bit my tongue) Now, I'm angry at you, yes - you ripped us open as one rips open an envelope - carelessly (I wonder what you thought was inside) But I'm also angry at me Because I could've stopped you So many times before but instead I allowed myself to withdraw, and pretend all boys do this.
NumberOneTwentyFive I'm angry at you, yes, and confused. I've read most of your books, you know. I was raised on Sneetches and Loraxes And Sox-wearing foxes. My view of the universe, because of you, goes on beyond zebra. I took a look yesterday at the editorial cartoons you drew sixty years ago, Trying to persuade the country to go after the Fuhrer. You made the most evil man in the world look like a true idiot. I loved it. Then I flipped to a drawing of a man with slanted eyes, a sinister moustache, and an ugly grin. I stared for a second, and flipped through a few more pages, and kept staring in disbelief. To think that you, with all your wisdom and humor, could have been such a racist. Amazing. I know you can't be perfect. I know too many hearts have been broken by too-high expectations of others. I know all this and more, but none of it can save me from feeling Incredibly Painfully Disappointed.
NumberOneTwentySix I know too many hearts have been broken by too-high expectations of others. But I didn't know I needed to write a poem about it until I saw that line, from Mitchell (wisedom I was not looking for at the hands of an old, old friend, but wisedom accepted as welcome). And felt it tie into my life, like it's already a strand in the twisted rope of my logic and my emotions. I thought I had things figured out. THought I was slowly grounding, after the rush, up, of being in love. I thought my expectations aligned with reality. So the only conclusion I can come to, is that you've changed (or you have more layers than I ever though possible). But you tell me /I've/ changed, and together, we put me on the defencive about it. I thought my expectations were moderate. I thought I knew what I could ask, and what would be asked, and how far we could stretch and give. I hate that I'm talking about my expectations in past tense. Cooperating on devaluing myself. -Tessa NumberOneTwentySeven i thought i knew what i could ask
i thought i could ask and you
you would know the answers.
i thought at least i could make words come
coherently out of my mouth.
instead i scribbled like a madwoman,
/addiction/
/above all i feel so desperate/
/knowing all the answers/
/change/
/then i will leave.../
/... then it will be worse/
and i wanted rest i wanted rest oh god
i needed sleep
but more i needed to be able to ask my questions.
i thought i knew how to ask
to get an answer.
instead i
/wish i knew what's wrong with me./
Number OneTwentyEight I scribbled like a madwoman because I was on my lunch break and you weren't there. While eating grapefruit that made the paper sticky and the pen I clutched. While drinking sweet and bitter droves that poured from me. While knowing that I cannot make love to myself and to the faith in earth that binds me and releases me. So since you were not there to touch my fingertips to yours I scribbled and found that lonliness is deeper than a well. -Mel Number OneTwentyNine tonight,
(at 3 AM)
I reached
(for you)
and found a cat instead.
sinking back
(restless)
into sleep
(somehow)
I managed to pretend
you were here anyway.
But I woke
(inevitally)
and then
(of course)
it hit me
that you hadn't been there
and you still aren't.
Why is it that in the solemn silence of the night you seem so tangible and when the morning arrives, you have spirited yourself off again? Since you are not here to touch my fingertips to perhaps I should just go back to bed.
NumberOneThirty What must you think, you dishes clustered on the kitchen counter? What feelings run through your little glass, steel, and porcelain bodies As you await your daily cleansing? Do you, perhaps, wonder if there might be more to life Than the same old cycle? Do you feel the grime of hours-old food and drink on your bodies? Do you wish to be washed, Or desire to stay dirty? Maybe you just go with the flow. I stand before you most nights of the week, Rolling up my sleeves, Taking in the milk rings, Bits of noodles, And bread crumbs that clutter your perfect surfaces. I play with the faucets until the water's hot enough to burn away any germs that may be lurking on you without scalding me. Then it begins. You slide into the water, and for a moment you enjoy the wet warmth, But then (Oh horrors!), Then comes the rough yellow foam thing To scrape the discolored spots of your face. Is it painful? Or perhaps ticklish? In any case you try to escape through the slippery, sudsy liquid. But I know that trick, and my grip stays firm. When I'm finally satisfied, the rinse comes. The soap is washed out of your eyes, And then you're placed on the Rack Where you'll stay all night, shivering in the open air, all night long. And when the morning arrives, I'll be there again to lift you gently and place you back in your cozy cupboards. But before long you'll be dragged out again, and the cycle will repeat itself, for years upon years, until you brake, and another phase of your existence begins. What's a poor dish to do?
Number OneThirtyOne do you wish to be washed or desire to stay dirty? would you rather have your soul cleaned of its impurities or stay your own dramatic dirty self? it's hard to say, I think - squeaky clean souls are easy to manage personally, I'd rather keep my faults and have the grit to stay true
#132 I watch you prance along, with your beautiful head up your own ass. I wounder why you walk past me so. I wounder if you want to know the real way out. Or if you just want the quick fix. If you know the meaning of life.. or the true meaning of you being here. But nay...thats not you. would you rather take the deep plounge. No? No! Get outta here! You? Become more then a plastic dall? Thats a joke!
NumberOneThirtyThree If you know the meaning of life.. Or even if you have any interesting guesses.. Perhaps you'll tell me. Personally, I think all the answers we need Are contained in the walnut-sized minds of cats. So all we really need to do Is to let them walk all over our keyboards. I know that might be irritating at first, But.. Sooner or later those dainty little paws /will/ tap out the true secret of existence. So do your duty as a citizen of the Universe! Find a cat to trample /your/ keyboard today!
(helped along by subliminal suggestions of feline origin) Number OneThirtyFour I dare you challenge you to let me be Let me be wild loud, spinning and screaming my joy in existance Let me crumble into myself ball up in sorrow, cry out with the agony Let me be tender look at the world with warmth, with gentleness Let me be angry hit things hard, snarl and rage I know it might be irritating at first but at least I'll be real instead of your plastic perfect Me (I also dare you to be yourself -
good luck.
I won't stop you.)
(darn you, Mitchell, you're hard to follow) One Hundred thirty FiveI want to be Many many things I am them. you don't see. I want to share. I'm alone. I can be happy -- why is it so hard?
Number OneThirtySix with you,
I often feel like
I'm at the fair,
playing in the mirrors.
You know the places -
where the mirrors are
wall to wall.
I loved them
I spun around
instant company
But I'm discovering, now
that while rooms of mirrors
are great at fairs
(making crowds of people out of one)
they're not much for company
and once you stop whirling around
you realize that
for all there are hundreds
in the mirrors
they're all only reflections of yourself
and that really only you is real
that
I'm alone
Oh36
playing in the mirrors.
is a dangeros game..
one never gets too much thanks for it.
No one really likes someone
that spends all there time in the mirrors.
But what if they want out
but dont know how?
Well i will tell you
thats me all over...
Every pritty girl plays in mirrors.....
(thats me) (how sad)
...even if they dont -wanna.-
They just cant take a hammer and smash all the mirrors.
But what can happen is have soemone
really wounderful
come along
and love you for who you are
not for what you look like...
Smash!!Glass everywhere... And your free! No more mirrors.. ...for you ..or i...
NumberOneThirtySeven Seeing you again, I remember why I fell in love with you Even though that feeling faded quite a while ago. You still have the same smile, The same walk, The same hands. You still give the same warm, healing, All-is-fine-in-the-world hugs. And you still glow just as easily as you did three (almost) years ago, Perhaps even more so. I'm amazed at how reassuring an hour (if that) Of your time can be. We had some hard times, didn't we, You and I? Remember all those long, tense, guilty months? That didn't last Couldn't last Because whatever else was between us, Our friendship was too good to give up. I have trouble thinking of how it could have gone better. I don't want to think of how it could have gone worse. And now, Now... I can look at you Talk to you Laugh with you Twirl my hands around yours All without regrets or resentment or jealousy And love you for who you are Not who I would have liked you to be. And I just want you to know How very Very Lucky I feel.
(for, erm, some girl) One Thirty Eight I'm not hungry. Unh-uh. Fine, thanks. Very Fine. No food today Or yesterday Fasting You know Not hungry Not heavy Airy light Wheeeeeee Spin Fall Oops i didn't mean to eat that Oh well I just want you to know I have not got any problems I have not got any fat I have not eaten any food And yes I'm okay with that. For Ginny. Number OneThirtyNine I beat your butt at Quarto again, You call me a brat, I return, affectionately, with Jerk. You know And I know What we mean, anyway - And besides I really can be a brat. You and I Walk for hours - We run across streets, almost get hit And spin around, dizzy from the sprint Find ourselves a park (I get the good swing, because I'm cute, And because I argue better than you) We find a cat, or two or three, to pet. You write a damn fine poem Play the piano better than me (your hands are bigger, no fair) You're not a half bad artist either. I trust you to keep a secret Cheer me up Hug me when I'm upset Listen to me when I'm angry Likewise, I trust you to tell me when you're angry or upset This poem is written For no other reason other than That I am happy I know you And I want you to know it.
oh4oh
This poem is written
for you and i,
for the girl at the end of the street,
but most of all
for the little girl that isn't noticed.
Not cared for,
neglected,
but yet loved.
Still smiled at,
but smiles are only skin deep.
Her hurt goes on forever,
much deeper then a smile.
Or even deeper then a hug..
this poem is for every little girl
inside you and me
that wants out.
Wants out to play in the sand,
but somehow...
......cant.
One Forty-One For every snail-like girl and boy, inside you as inside me There is a way out, (Faster than a smile.) If you are moving, just stop coiling yourself inside yourself or if you are still, move. Move out of the coils: Of you, coiling around you, (the delicate balance between strangling yourself and hugging yourself.) Spiral out....... Touch.
OneFortyTwo Faster than a smile the memories reach my mind the shock of the pond water icey in may has not numbed my heart i still feel every word like it's fingers on my arm the happy words the sad words too they tickle me, grass on my bare feet hanging off the edge of the wagon the memories are crossing my eyes. NumberOneHundredAndFourtyThree Why is my life flashing before my eyes? I'm fine. There is no reason to beleive I'm about to die. I don't. It's all your fault. I can't stop thinking about things we did together... which remind me of things I did with her... and her... and her... and her brother... and that camping trip... (...wait...I didn't even know you then.) and the time I visited grandma... and when I broke the lamp... and on... and on... and on... and... I don't need a knife at my throat to relive my life. I just need you. If you're not here it works better. The memories are crossing my eyes and I wish I could sleep. I lived this life once already... no...more than that. This isn't the first time my life has flashed before my eyes. -Lorin NumberOneFortyFour You fall over sideways And your head falls in my lap As you tell me about this hard decision you've made. You win /every/ strategy game we play With little apparent effort Even if I've been playing it much longer than you have. We play Apples to Apples And fall over laughing At the adjectives we choose for each other. I ooh and ahh with you As we watch a beautiful image Of horses' hooves under water. I watch you during tense moments And try to convince you of how brave you are. I'm there when you have to tell her goodbye. This isn't the first time I've seen two people go through this But it's never been this hard to watch. I do the best I can for you On the way home And hope it's enough. Around you I can let go. I can tell you anything And everything With absolute trust. And your trust in me Makes me glow. I'm just grateful, that's all.
NumberOneFortyFive Make me glow, even if i dont wanna. Make me shine like the north stars even if it hurts. Make me glow, like i use to. Make me shine like silver polish, Even if it hurts, Even if it burns. All i want is love baby. All i want is care, all i want is you and me together again as us.
NumberOneFortySix even if it burns. i welcome the way my skin can sing a thousand screaming harmonies. it's singing for you. bet you never realized bet you couldn't hear when you ran the opposite direction with your hands over your ears. even if it stings i welcome the way my skin can feel knowing how well i could feel if your hands were on me. i'm wanting you, didn't you realize? even if you burn even if you hurt. i've had the practice, oh god, i've had the practice. now all i need is something real to cry for. i'm tired of feeling like i make all of this up. but my skin sings and i have to join in or silence my own throat. it'd be so much easier if you were here to be distracting. Number OneFortySeven I wrote a poem about anger, and you took a line, and ran the opposite direction with your hands typing furiously of love. The next person to walk by, sees a poem of sorrow lurking inside and writes that. After they're poured their sorrow out, they leave their footprints on the page, for somebody else to misinterpret.
NumberOneFortyEight I hear something My mind races furiously To describe the sound It's meaning, it's source To the mind Strugling to understand Everything there is to know Even to the edges of space Where the seams Don't quite line up And reality looks at itself Like a broken mirror And sees two reflections Both real Not quite the smae
149 Reality looks at itself and Reality sees an illusion of itself Then I step in and I Throw my hand in the water I stain it red and shatter it More fun than a funhouse mirror More dangerous than you, my dear More twisted than our dreams Yet underneath: as simple as water Sweet as your eyes and bitter like morter.
OneFifty you, my dear, are dangerous as you've ever been. dangerous when first you were in my dreams twice as frightening now that i'm in yours. i've worked so hard to keep my waking self seperate from sweet dreams and nightmares. both threatening to shatter the collected existence i've protected. don't tell me things that make my dreams take off. stop being sweet and maybe i will live through another night. NBTSWikiWiki | Recent Changes Edited 2 times, last edited on May 1, 2001 by aredridel@nbtsc.org. © 2000 NBTSC Webmasters |
