I Think That Poetry Is Perfect For

I Want To Be Untouchable And Beautiful And Completely Dead Inside.

You Were Just A Boy On A Bed In A Room, Like A Kaleidoscope Is A Tube Full Of Bits Of Broken Glass. But The Way I Saw You Was Pieces Refracting The Light, Shifting Into An Infinite Universe Of Flowers And Rainbows And Insects And Planets, Magical Dividing Cells, Pictures No One Else Knew.

L.a. Kills People.' Jacaranda Said. 'you're Lucky You're Leaving. You'll Be Able To Write.' She Looked Paler, Going Through Another Depression, Smoking In Bed In Her Lilac Room. The Walls Were The Color Of Her Veins. She Was Getting Too Thin, Even For The Modeling. . .jacaranda Died Last Winter When The Flowering Trees Were Bare. You Couldn't Even Tell Which Ones Once Cried The Purple Blossoms She Named Herself After.

I Will Not Eat Cakes Or Cookies Or Food. I Will Be Thin, Thin, Pure. I Will Be Pure And Empty. Weight Dropping Off. Ninety-nine... Ninety-five... Ninety-two... Ninety. Just One More To Eighty-nine. Where Does It Go? Where In The Universe Does It Go?

All The Things That Girls Feel They Are Not When They Fear That If They Become, If They Are, They Will No Longer Be Loved By The Sisters Whose Hearts They Have Not Meant To Break. And Besides, If The Sisters Are Gone And Only The Beloved Remains With His Dense Curls And His Lips, How Safe Are You Then? You Have To Have Him Or You Will Die If The Sisters Are Gone With Their Listening Ears And Their Feet To Rub And Their Bodies To Dress And Their Shared Loneliness.