Blue Blue is the most romantic color. Blue is the color of my room at night, The glow of my piano screen and The lava lamp you bought me, On the same day that we Snuggled close and You put your arm around me, And I was reassured Our love was mutual. And true. Blue is the most romantic color. Blue is the color of my eyes. I'd always thought them plain But when you described them to me You called them icy, and illustrious-- I didn't know you knew that word. You seemed so passionate about Making me feel beautiful. So I do. I want you to, too.

Shelling Once again, once again, My energy ripped from the skin of my hands, Poltergeist to my rifle and dead-end nerves. Dull, dull, dull death- Like a black and white still. Too quickly still. Blank space, void in a canvas- littered. Dead trees, dead trees, charred trees, men. Live suspended on a vein, my #life, my #life- Comes shooting into me. Still, still, too slowly still- A radius around me of white. Why? Red means stop, no more, stop. But a slow circle around me Nothing, nothing, nothing, Shells.

To Live A #life Of Needles A second of the needle A day of searing pain A week of tests and tests and tests A month of acid rain A year of please get better A decade growing sparse A century of pray for me A #life of broken hearts

Found Poetry: Crematoria Poor devils. Adults. Small children. Babies! Was I alive? Awake? Sleep tended to elude me. What a shame, what a shame The world isn't interested in us. Sanctified, infernal flame- Anger, rising heat- The pit and it's flames... Today, everything is possible. Even the crematoria. That smoke, that silent sky, Condemned to live. As God himself, Striking anyone, without reason. Rain on us, angel of death- Waste your bitter tears. Today, everything is possible. Even the crematoria. -'Night'

TRUE You do so much for me. Your vision tinted pink And words rosy. I do so little for you. No, she said. You love me.