There are so many lists in my world:
I can list for you my suffering...
Tonight I'll murder you the literate way
riding a sword of words...
I've heard whispers of Paris lately,
the city of love and some place foreign to me...
I stood upon the
golden sand which...
"He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest...
She hides the bruises once again
By putting on long sleeves...
She goes home every night and dreams,
holding her pillow close to her heart...
I surrender
To the look residing in your eyes...
Time and time again
I feel worse about my being...
Age of six
He loved her so...