Words can cut like knives.
Do you know how deep they cut?
I’m afraid to ask.

Somedays we crave solitude,
Others we long for company...
We feel lonely,
abandoned.

We are alone in or minds,
Living through a hell of our own.
No one will understand,
No one can understand.

I see you today,
I miss you tomorrow.
Soon after I will love you,
And I will hate you...

We are not stalkers,
We just need assurance.
Someone to constantly remind us,
We are loved, We aren't forgotten...

Sometimes I shout above you,
I am not angry,
I just want to block out...
The battle in my mind.

put that blade down
do it for me please
i may not be significant or helpful
but
do it for me please.

please.
really.

Too many gestulate but Im already down.
One day hard hitting without thought
but now I willingly break bread
with my eyes pointing down.
To imposter anybody else is a sin.
No sympathy weeping branches
a twisting wind as lore is
more likely to see the light.

I am anchored to thoughts of Brugge.
My gastronomical panache is set.
Walking in a medieval town is like
voyaging  to the summits,
the stillness of the morning air
comes with a sense of belief.
Rossie our  tour guide
quilts you with the  knowledge
and a  knowing boon.
Nowhere else provides such testimony.

.
"That there Is'belle's house stinks wunderful turr'ble,"croaked Emma Beiler at their quilting bee.
"Jah...vell," sighed Rosanna Yoder. "All them there katzes , ain't so?"
Accordingly the two ladies set out to pay Travis and Isabella Salter a visit, only to be politely told that they had were in the process of taking some cats to a local shelter.
Two weeks passed and to the Amish folks' disgust the odour had merely intensified.
"Them there Englisch are chust liars!" Potato Sam spat the words out along with a *** of chewing tobacco.
" Ach, vell," sighed  his wife Rosanna, unaware of her heavily sweating underarms. The Ordnung  strictly forbade deodorant as well as perfume. "Reckon I best  mosey over and see fur myself."
Travis opened the door with a tired sigh.
'Chust thought I'de ask vhat fur stinks yer house up so vonderful tur'ble...Izzy tells us youse gettin' rid of them but-"
A puzzled look crossed Travis weary face as he glanced toward the kitchen. Irritation gripped him, not lessened as Rosanna glowered at Tabby washing her face on the couch. Then a waft of a familiar scent, overpowering, drifted toward him from the kitchen. Brussel sprouts enhanced by -.
With all the stress, Isabelle was increasing her calming herbs, mixing the powders.... Valerian?
"Good evening, Mrs. Yoder." He motioned her toward the door, locking it firmly behind her. For a long time after she was gone he stood staring out the window.