mazegirl

I tire of poetry. I tire of trying to make snow represent puppies And tulips represent death, And tie it all together. What you end up with is a mass of rotting animals and plants in slush And that never sold books... At least, not well. I delete the whole thing. I wish I could write. If my ass wasn't so fat, I could write. I should start a diet; Really stick with it this time. Until I'm thin like those starving orphans on T.V. whose bellies bloat only from parasites But thinking of these orphans While a reader orders an unsweetened tea and a salad with low-calarie ranch on the side Isn't pleasant Or cost effective. I delete

After Lord knows how long, There you are, smart and strong, Appearing in my dreams. And although it seems That you don't care, I would dare To say that you, indeed, Dreamed of me As well. To be honest, I hope it was hell, Even though I know it was not. In fact, you probably laughed when I got shot... Or something to that morbid effect. I hope I infect Your mind with that one dream, Just like how you've done with me, or so it seems... Unlike you, I have alcohol.