There's always the first guy,They're the first try,At love,But then they're the first lie,And after that comes the first goodbye,And don't forget the broken heart,
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Can I ask you something,If I'm louder,Would you hear me,And not ignore me,Pay attention, and listenIf I pretend to be someone I'm not,Will you notice me,And look at me,Instead of through meIf I'm bolder,Will you see me,Not someone battered and bruisedJust me as I really am,If I am me,Will you love me,
He is my rose,Pricking my finger and drawing blood,But also sweetly tempting,My melody,Haunting me in my dreams,But also calming and soothing,A poem,Leading me in circles, confusing me,But also helping me understand life,I have many ways to look at him,My rose,My melody,A poem,But he is always there,Unmoving,Unshifting,
Dear heart,Why,Why the asshole,Who doesn't respect my feelings,Gets more than half my heart,Why does the guy,Who has everything I am,Have to be a jerk,And throw me around,Why do I have to care,I know that I didn't choose him,But you did,You chose him,
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.