My eyes looked into yours.Was I accidentally falling for you?Little did I know that I was.Your dreams ran into mine.Was it a coincidence?We were very similar.I never thought I would need you so much.Who knew that your time would change all of mine?I never planned for these moments with you.
I'm walking down the streetHeading to a far away areaTrying to relieve the painMy tears mixed with the rainYou can't heal something whenYou haven't cleansed it fully out.I felt cleaned and refreshed.I kept walking down the streetAnd I didn't give in to the pain.
I want to sleepMy thoughts however...Why can't they stop?Why do they keep repeating?Why do I have to remember?In the end I'm still awake,Begging them to cease.
Take a hold nowOn the silver handles here,Six silver handles,One for each of his old pals.Take holdAnd lift him down the stairs.Put him on the rollersOver the floor of the hearse.Take him on the last haul,To the cold straight house.The level even house,To the last house of all.The dead say nothingAnd the dead know muchAnd the dead hold under their tonguesA locked-up story.
I am not the black cat.There were four of us;my grandmother,a black cat,a myth,and I.My grandmother oftentold us a myth.When you are ill, she said,if a black catcomes and sits on your bedit means that youwill die soon.I was only six,seriously ill.Our black cat
He wakes, who never thought to wake again,Who held the end was Death. He opens eyesSlowly, to one long livid oozing plainClosed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;And waits; and once in timeless sick surmiseThrough the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speckOf moveless horror; an Immortal OneCleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a flyFast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.I thought when love for you died, I should die.It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.