My 16-year-old niece tried to slash her wrist today. She botched the attempt, though, and managed only to leave a mess on a once white shirt where her blood had dried. I wasn't in the least bit sympathetic. On the contrary, the whole episode only annoyed me and, well, raised some vague recollections of my own high school suicide fantasies. I believe the scenes I came up with were gorier, more creative. I never did act on any of them, though. I was never that stupid...
I like the sound of water crooning like nature’s song from a mountain’s secret streams I like its voice, like a lover’s echoing whispers within a pool in a cavern -- sometimes subtle, like dew on a yawning leaf, it can whoosh as if in a rush and slap against daring rocks and ridges -- at times oddly thoughtful, it putters and plops and trickles on a windowsill; or merry, it blends with the shrieks and splashes of running naked limbs -- forbidding, it roars with the force of an angry ocean; hurt, it whimpers – the sound muffled by a confining bottle or glass -- quiet, it lies gagged and imprisoned, locked by a trembling eyelid.
*This is my first real attempt at poetry.My professors liked it, though, haha...
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
