The tissues know something. Even the mirror knows. My music knows it And especially my pillow. My books can see it

I remember how I cried When they cut down Our tree.

I am a plummeting plane. I see the clouds go past, And I close my eyes, sometimes, But I still feel where I’m going. Sometimes, I feel that

Sam said, “Get over it.” As if I could Just climb a tree. Sam said,

It’s so quiet. I feel soft. The winter hurts, So I burrow inside, But I forget how to

A tree fell in the park last night… I didn’t hear it go. The innards smelled of peppermint, And I felt the crumbling dirt Turn into ash in my hand.

Love is the sickness. Love is the cure.

I dislike nothing more than Philosophy. How lazy.

Mom, I miss you, And I’m miserable. I miss grandma, And I’m so lonely. I miss being a kid.

I ran from you all my life. I’ve had problems, But that doesn’t make it right.

Perfection is an evil reflection On what is really real. Solitude is my gratitude When I am sad. Numbness equals oneness

I died on Tuesday. My soul floated up Above my milky corpse, And I smiled. I saw my family,

Am I incurable? It seems so. I’m an incorrigible invalid Of the heart.