EternalSolaris

For God's sake love me a little— Would that you could bid me to hold my tongue As you send your own in a slippery trail down my body; Tell me how you care in words And not in desperate, lingering embraces! Yet, modest Social Form tells us Not to love (it is not right!), And so dreaded Time separates our kindred hearts. We, who are so puzzle-perfect in our desires And our losses. Damned society only lets me dream Of the pleasant days of poetry and conversation we might share, As well as those ever-endless nights; Of some obscure balm that will eventually cure the flutter And aching in my breast, and allow me to move away

My Dear,     Truthfully, I've never been especially romantic. Needlessly cute things have never set well on my stomach and whispered nothings in my ear have always seemed so insincere. I guess I'm more of a "shut up and put out" type of gal. Maybe you wouldn't mind. Maybe if I wasn't such a kid I'd already know the answer.     I don't know how to say exactly how I feel. I'm horrible at these things—love letters are the worst, aren't they? Just a senseless bit of romantic drivel scribbled frantically on a scrap of (hastily) perfumed notebook paper. Ah, poor cheesy sleaze that I am! A coward with neither guts nor a face. But bear with me...

Because I'm Darlin' and funny and daft, You tease as you please until I remark on earmuffs and stalk off With false tears and a pledge of silence… All the while still conversing. Flustered and fussy you leave me in the dust With an eloquence and brilliance I've not yet lived long enough to gain possession of. I'm so inadequate. Thus I speak of silly things in silly ways And I am not taken seriously. I'm just the silly little girl you love To tease and please and tell stories to— I hear you speak and I am soothed; Your words flow through me, Though sometimes far beyond my grasp— Especially those infinite little wisdoms

I hate you when you drink And I don't know how to feel when you're sober. You were my father once; I often wonder where that man went. He flew away with my childhood innocence. Left me to bloom in the rot of adolescence without a care. You're not my father anymore But I'll always (regrettably) be your daughter.

You've killed me…Do you know that or has the knowledge escaped you? Am I not enough for your proud gaze and condescending demeanor? Am I too bland for your taste, so much that you cannot partake of my wanting company? Did you envy that which I did not need to flaunt; marvel at my charms and hate my self-consciousness? Did you see yourself in me and feel disgusted all the more (because so often the reason we hate another is the reflection of ourselves we see)? Or was it all simply too much—the transition, the responsibilities; growing up? Were you ever truly honest with me—my dearest friend, who was once (and still is) so very near to my h

My heart was broken today—a delightful way to end a Friday afternoon— the ruthless hand of Administration dug into my back, groping and fondling and squeezing all the while before turning it into a formless mass that tries in vain to beat. In this single act I've lost a part of myself; Words express no meaning— Coherency is a sin! And I am dead—DEAD— So what does it matter?