the water, like a glass between-
the other world, and me
here i am, in this imprisonment-
the rivers, bars of my cage
i swim-
but never can i break the surface.
what deed have i done-
to deserve such a punishment?
yet, i rest in contentment-
knowing that, imprisoned may i be-
still beauty hangs nearby!
the drooping blossoms of the trees-
leave trailing petals upon the lake.
the winter makes me so happy
the snow hanging in the trees
the cold biting at you
i love it
oh Icarus, you poor thing.
fell in love with the sun, the sky-
paid the price, i suppose.
why do we always pay the price for love?
Orpheus, lonesome poet,
lost his love because he wanted to tell her they'd made it.
In my attic I keep my heart.
I hold it there, safe amidst pillows, blankets and childhood stuffed animals.
When I make things, I break off a piece of my heart,
and sew it into pillows,
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