is a sad, sad state
it must be my fate with you
you  could hurt me no worse
not give reason to my verse
not legitimize my cause
if ever there was
a tendril
that I attached to
it was you
and now I sag
under remorse
because I can not force
what came natural before
no more than I could
hail the sun out of the clouds
shake the dead out of their shrouds
glue the petals of a rose
once the poor thing decomposed
as I -
maybe we can bury this
in the pages of a book
will you write it
or shall I
can we name it -
Catcher in the Rye