She chose to kill love on New Year's day.

She had felt the love leaving her slowly, as through a mortal wound, therefore this choice was merely a formality. The clock had struck twelve and a chord within. She glanced up from the melée, found the hands standing perfectly in time, and noted her decision with simple acceptance. It was like a death passing in the night- a thing unnoticed. She chose to kill love so that it would stop killing her. New Year's was simply the day upon which it occured, for she did not believe in resolutions, like man could change the turns of destiny through the difference in one second. She peered down at her hands, inspecting the wrists, uncertain that the feeling of suicide inside did not have an outward effect. She would live another year alone because it was better this way.
It was better to be destroyed by one's own hands.

Please, Not Again

Another letter and your ghost settles in
Props up a chair, Oh please not again
four summers, three springs, one fall
I thought we had said it all
Insult to injury just for you to say
I never wanted it this way
Actions are cheap, words full of gold
How ever did we get so old?
Accents change but it means the same
You've got a new look on an old frame
Another letter and your ghost settles in
Props up a chair, Oh God, not again
All the suddent I just can't take
The consequences I didn't make

"A crumbling apartment, a double bed made single by intention, a harsh open bulb picking out striking features in her face. Her wide cheeks driven wider in the cold utterance of the one word that has no real explanation. It seems caught in her throat, a sharp wishbone dragging on the soft flesh inside her neck. What protrudes is not the fine point of devotional light intended, but rather a feeble cough. “I really love you.” He knows that this is not true, but lust and his own devotion blind his rationality. And furthermore he knows she is not lying. She believes she does love him"



--This is an excerpt from a short story my friend is writing and he asked me to proofread. I found it particularly beautiful.

"Everything that you do makes me want to die
Oh, I just told the biggest lie"



-Elliot Smith

The Mysterious Barricades

Me but all you and the inevitable argument against words.
The line that fits wrong in all the right places suffocating
Me! but all you and the inevitable dread laying in letters
The implication that bursts and consumes: a fire of meaning
Me? but all you and the inevitable braeking of silent sounds
The slogan that punctuates and punctures hopeful dreaming of
All you but me. and the inevitable pondering and turns of phrase
The relief that is brief like shifting of pains across me it's just not
Me. but all you and the inevitable alms parading in fake certainty
The giving that is always taking a morsel of truth in a bed of lies
Me, utterly completely myself but turning slowly into all you.
The question that answers: Me but all you but still me? I am