I came on too strong,
and I rubbed your soul wrong.
Now I'm strung along
by a silent, unloved song.

The pieces have been put together
the tears have been repaired
the blanket enwraps us once again
now stronger
out of the city's reach
away from the hurricane
its beauty pierces through the hurricane
making all the gray turn to pure white fabric
which is sewn into the blanket
the city watches in horror
as the blanket becomes larger
even more magnificent than before
the angels sing
the wedding bells ring
as we inter twine ourselves withen the blanket
letting each other know
that we have overcome the city
overpowered the hurricane
and now can bond as one
as the kiss is shared
we may be a part of the blanket
permanately bringing sunshine to the city
the city fights but the blanket,
the blanket is too overwhelming and beautiful

My body can't take the damage-
millions of drops of acid rain
are drowning the light in my brain;
My doctor gave me a bottle of pills
to help water the flowers you killed,
but I think a professional like him should know
that even weeds need sunlight to grow;
I had a garden growing inside of me
what else does it take to be happy?

You're all out
with friends,
and terrible music.

That's the first stanza
of the first poem here.
The next is different.

Stay where you are,
we don't need you or
the simulated *** you call dancing.

When you've grown up,
like I'm trying to (sometimes too fast)
you will walk out of one of those clubs
and see the clouds have cleared.

Then, after you've discovered that you have a body,
you'll see it as a tool,
like a hammer you watched your father
swing a dozen times in the shed.

That's all it is:
A tool for your spirit.

there is a noose hanging in my
throat
and when I try to tell you I love you
it tangles around the words and
I start to choke
so I keep my mouth shut

and this is not to say that I do not love you but
love doesn't feel like a blessing anymore,
it feels like guilt,
it feels like another promise that
I will not be able to keep, it feels like
an apology that my lips will never speak.

when I try to tell you I love you
I remind myself that
you don't want me to anymore,
remind myself that
this is not what you want to hear from me,
remind myself that
you will not say it back.

when I try to tell you I love you it is not because
I think you need to hear it,
it is because
I want to say it,
it is because
that word has been eating a hole in the pit of my stomach for
too long,
it is because when I
repeat a word too many times
it stops sounding like one
so I'm hoping that if I say it out loud it will
regain its meaning,
it is because I do not know if it's true and
I want you to tell me it is,
it is because I am
selfish
and this is entirely for my own
benefit and/or destruction

and I am sorry because
when I tell you I love you it will be
the last thing I say to you.

I remember when I first smoked.
I thought I'd be coughing for weeks,
but now I smoke a pack a day as if I can't get enough of inhaling a sickly sweet smoke into my lungs.
It reminded me of family reunions and hugs from my long dead grandparents.  
I swore I'd never get addicted.

I remember when I first drank.
I attempted to drown the shot,
but it seemed like the liquid crawled back up my throat like a fire looking for a burn, but I kept going back for more.
I kept on getting burned, drowning another after another until I couldn't remember my name or the date
when in reality I was trying to forget yours and the day I met you.
I swore I'd never get addicted.

I remember the first time I cut.
Blood poured from my wrist in ribbons of red
and in a sickly way someone in me might have thought it was beautiful,
the way it fell to the bathroom floor in a
drip drip drip waterfall.
the razor cut through skin as easy as a butter knife through butter
and at first I didn't know I would love it so much.
I swore I'd never get addicted.

I remember the first day I met you.
Your brown eyes could go from happy to sad in a split second,
but the grin that formed on your face like an artist carved it on there was so contagious I found myself grinning, too.
Your hands were always cold, holding mine, touching my waist, moving my hair out of my face.
I kissed them to keep them warm.
Your kiss sent fireworks throughout my body, like it was 4th of July
and I was just a little kid screaming at the colors and the sounds as your lips explored mine, and my hands explored your body.
I could never get enough of you.
I swore I'd never get addicted.