A blithe and dumb ballerina
Is not who I am;
The roses rule my spoken word
I am the cup of coffee that bleeds,
And where is the poverty
That bleeds?
The eternal outcome
Are soft and pleasant sheets
Wrapped around my body,
You love it when I am embraced
By skies unlimited...
Someone\'s soft touch intrigues me
I am the willow tree
I committed suicide today
But not really,
For I thought about it
Over and over again
But the soft bird saved me
Yet the roses are a blur
And I will still get my money, regardless
And I will still get my books
That are owed to me,
For I worked hard for these books
And I worked hard for my money,
Do I still want to die?
No.
For my emptiness feeds me promises
That are going to be kept this time,
And I apologize for my ugliness
For my ugliness is pretty.
And please don\'t drop my soul
For my soul is pretty--