I just Don't Know.

I keep my heart locked away
in a rusty tin box
incase your eyes go astray
and you pluck the moon from
the stars for me.

Love, love, sweet love,
master of us all.
You make us peasants yearn
for a life beyond our own
and yet we will never have.

Damn my heart and my veins for
this dastardly romance;

one-sidesd.

i don't ever want to go home.
I can't feel at home.
It's just bricks and mortar to me.
My life is the stars, not the earth.

My hands are telling me you don't love me at all
and sometimes, i don't mind at all.

I'm working out the chemistry that
I need to stop endlessly
to be, to be, to be or not to be?

I love you, darling that much I know
but I know that much it don't show
and you don't love me at all
do you do you do you, no.

I'm tired of this shit, I'm tired of this pkace
'cause it seems I can only see your face.

I'd trade my breath to meet you.

Love, love, my words transcend
all the mouths of mortal men
and should our paths cross
on some snow-blazen night,
I'll compensate for the time lost
and share my crimson delight.

Scattered voices in my dreams
should tease my mind to live
beyond it's terrestial measures.

But all the constellations in the sky
would fall to Earth and burn
if you ever knew my name.

Alas! Mercy please, ma belle dame.
Thou art not with child yet yet yet
my blood seems to be afore with
no barren urges of feveres of the
older woman. Such as would make his
head turn in dismay. Alas, alas!

Venusian tempest, playing on my thoughts
would not make such unachievable dreams.

Love me, loathe me
just know me please.
Don't be such a tease
in my nightmares.

I love you.
Muse inspirata!
Destiny! Thy name in the stars!

But you need more than me...
my love is like a line - one sides.

I'm too old for this shit.

I want to go home.

But that...that is not home. Here used to be home but that was a long time ago now. Too long ago. Can't...I want them all to fade away, to float away. Happy bubbles.

Let me be a child again.
Tell me I'll soon be well.
Tell me I haven't reached Hell.

I wish that fucking bastard would stop snoring and go upstairs so I can be at peace to write the poetry and all those words in my head that need to be let go. Let me go, let me go.

I'm not a family person.
I'm not a people person.

I want to be left alone in my impossible dreams.

I dream of being a bride - I do, I do
and the kisses are heavy, lead-laden
and only my heart knows the poison.

I dream of being an adventurer of
my truest personality: not this
persona, not this.

I want no more of this.

I want the world to sparkle like my eyes did when I walked in the fields today. Snow blindness was magnificent. It was like the little beams of light that astronauts see as cosmic rays pass through their eyes in orbit. To experience that would be glorious.

Since, oh since! My God, my love is not controlled
but apparently, food is more important than this wretched
infatuation - such nonsense. I would forgo everything to remain alive
to fulfill those dreams for a chanced moment, a broken promise...

Anything but this fucking limbo that makes me want to jump from high things.
I just want to feel worthwhile, Christ.

And you know what? None of you bastards are helping me. So much for family.

Take my heart, boy-child. Take my
blood for ice and my milk for bile.
Lovers' embraces are worth a
life of hell, worth a life of hell.

I wonder what it feels like to die.

Quick or slow, painful, painless, queer, sweet, idiotic, quixotic, neurotic, paranoid...

This is suicide weather. Sylvia Plath was wrong. It's snow that drives madness, not sunshine.

I want to go walking in the night air. The cold feels good on my skin and at least in the fields, I feel more easy. Like I know people aren't watching me. Motherfuckers. Can't enjoy here as much because of those bastards. You think I don't know you're there? Laughing, are you? Writing up psychological assessments? Eh? Going to take me away?

Fuckers.

I want the dark night and stars. I don't want much else, not really. Humanity can go fuck itself. I'm done.

If I be mad, then I'd rather be madder than a box of frogs than be sane. This high is failing and I feel fucking glorious.

Why does your face make life seem worthwhile?

It's ridiculous.

She's right you know, she's right. But I can't. You follow me from room to room, from moon to moon.

My music, my house, my websites, my entire life revolves around your face,

thee, thee, oh what desire
in the light of day, such dismay
no more no more no more should I
do this, I am not a teenager
yet mmy hormones are afore
withthis frustrated desire.

Love, love you are a curse and
madness's bastard child.

Ennui.

Melancholy hath more finery than thee.