Sick, sad, rad teenWith cigarette smokeInside her dreamsSick, sad, rad teenMascara stainedCheeksSick, sad, rad teenGrades slipping downBetween the cracksSick, sad, rad teenArtistically fallingApart.
I have been wonderingDo my scars define me?Because they tell youAbout my painBetter than my words ever couldWhat defines me as a human being?And then I realizedI want to remain undefinedBecause instead of a human lifeI'll end up as anotherWord in the dictionary.
Violent emotionsCrash into me likeWaves from the ocean.My rage turns intoShiny writing fitsThat lead toExhausted handsAnd tired eyes.This happens almostEvery nightAnd lasts until4 amOr as long as thisDelirium lasts.
Poison ivy crawls at its root,I dare not approach it,It has an air of hate.One would say a man had been hanged to its branches,It holds them in such a way.The moon gets tangled in it,A distant steeple seems to barkFrom its belfry to the sky.Something that no one ever loved,Is buried here:Some grey shape of deadly hate,Crawls on the back fence just beyond.Now I remember--once I wentOut by night too near this oak,And a red cat suddenly leapt
Long vast shapes... cooled and flushed through with darkness....Lidless windowsGlazed with a flashy lusterFrom some little pert cafe chirping up like a sparrow.And down among iron gutsPiled silverThrowing gray spatter of light... pale without heat...Like the pallor of dead bodies.
What shall I do when the Summer troubles --What, when the Rose is ripe --What when the Eggs fly off in MusicFrom the Maple Keep?What shall I do when the Skies a'chirrupDrop a Tune on me --When the Bee hangs all Noon in the ButtercupWhat will become of me?Oh, when the Squirrel fills His PocketsAnd the Berries stareHow can I bear their jocund FacesThou from Here, so far?'Twouldn't afflict a Robin --All His Goods have Wings --I -- do not fly, so whereforeMy Perennial Things?