I just cry once in awhile out of no whereI am fineI just ache until sleeping is all I do for weeksI am fineI just don't want to speak with anyone.I am fineI know how to make the talk and fake it with smileI am fineIsn't that what I am suppose to be.I am fineI know you never asked.
Every time I write some poem about us, my fingers stutter.the ending lines are always in hiccups.My heart always chokes my hand;I freaking can't swallow our breakups.
When I behold a forest spreadWith silken trees upon thy head;And when I see that other dressOf flowers set in comeliness;When I behold another graceIn the ascent of curious lace,Which, like a pinnacle, doth shewThe top, and the top-gallant too;Then, when I see thy tresses boundInto an oval, square, or round,And knit in knots far more than I.Can tell by tongue, or True-love tie;Next, when those lawny films I seePlay with a wild civility;And all those airy silks to flow,
Sweet serene sky-like flower,Haste to adorn her bower;From thy long cloudy bedShoot forth thy damask head!New-startled blush of Flora,The grief of pale Aurora,Who will contest no more,Haste, haste to strew her floor!Vermilion ball that's givenFrom lip to lip in heaven,Love's couch's coverlet,Haste, haste to make her bed!Dear offspring of pleased VenusAnd jolly plump Silenus,Haste, haste to deck the hairOf the only sweetly fair!