Pageant of Poems

I wrote a hundred words
I created new ways to say them
And I gave them to you
They're yours
As they will always be
But there's a few more
That I meant for you to have
They got lost somewhere beyond your eyes
But my lips have found them on your face:



I hope you die
I hope you die
I hope you bleed yourself dry
I hope you choke
I hope you choke
On the tears that you cry

I wish you nothing
Nothing more
Than the blackest of skies
I want to see nothing
Nothing more
Than nothing in your eyes

Beth Whittaker