Well, here is a poem that I wrote about a week ago. It really isn't happy. But I like it anyway. Oh and in case you are wondering, it is about real life.

~*Patting Down Graves*~

How many times am I gonna stop

Look down at these pale hands

And wonder where you are

Out with your friends and him

And what are you thinking

Do you stop to remember

Me? Does your memory

Make you cringe, love,

Is it tinged with this

Same strange bitterness?

Because every little gasping

Breath I take stings, and I've

Got to avoid remembrance of things

I'm burying us secretly without

Even a marker; the dirt's cold and

Moist and stifling and it's on

My hands, as if I killed us, and

Maybe I did. But what do you want.

Dropping the shovel, the trowel,

I'm 'bout to leave, but

I have to turn around and look

And of course I feel the black

Dirt between my toes, and sink to

A darkness that lulls me to

Calm...I drag a sullen soiled

Finger down my own pale lips

And let the black envelop me

So nothing burns and nothing can

Touch me and I'm happy alone

And don't want you to love me

The hurt is dulled till it

Feels like comfort. My heart is

Sleeping; my breath slow and even.

And I don't think of you anymore.