Days on end,sitting in a room full of people.Not indulging in anyone but myself.Why would i?No one here knows me or cares to try.endless days."I won't forget"I say with my head flooded with thoughts.thoughts of not being enough,not having enough material items,and not giving enough.though i try to be the best version of myself, the truth is i'm a replica of my parents.Another day.Living.Not for myself.And not as myself.
What am I worth?A dollar?A quarter?A penny?Lately this question has been lingering uninvited.Am I worthy of your love?Am I worthy of any love?I used to seek answers from the one "up above"Now I look within to see that I am nothing.My whole life I've been running.Running from pain, hurt, and loss.And I've never been fast enough.So my backup plan was look strong.I couldn't do that either.I always had to beg,Beg to be held and beg to be comforted.
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.