two hundred-eight.

landfill of care.

like a landfill of

fearful waste -

you've made me

to be that

in the

crevices of

your

mind.

and it has manifested.

i will no longer fill

your land with the waste

i provide - a waste filled

with care.

i'm too tired and my

bones are growing weary.

my mind is hanging over

the moon because you've moved

away.

i understand.

my care

can't be taken care of

in your hands.

two hundred-seven.

i write this, for you.

amazingly enough,

the length and

the width of

your name is able to fit

on the head of my pen.

two hundred-six.

i.

you have enthralling eyes, you know.

you shouldn't always look to the cobble stones for attention.

and the streams that build up inside,

let your eyes give them a ride, down your cheek.

it's ok - they need to be freed.

your eyes, they're captivating, you know.

ii.

one autumn day, i felt Your hands

through the breeze of the sweet afternoon

and You rubbed against me in the most innocent

but loving way - Your word came to life:

"I will never leave you nor forsake you."

i trust You.

iii.

how loud will you scream into

the carvings of his delicate ears, lady?

until you cause a quake to erupt and separate

his brain from sweet sanity, stop!

stop howling at his mind, it is not the moon.