YOU SOLD IT I MADE IT

I WROTE IT

YOU STOLE IT

I SANG IT

YOU TOOK IT

I LIVE LIKE A DYING TREE

YOU STOLE IT

I WROTE IT

YOU TOOK IT

I SANG IT

NOTHING'S WHAT YOU GIVE TO ME

I MADE IT

YOU SOLD IT

I OWN IT

YOU HOLD IT

I'M STARVING RIGHT HERE ON YOUR STREET

YOU SOLD IT

I MADE IT

YOU HOLD IT

I OWN IT

MY MISERY NOW IS COMPLETE

Bobby Jameson Sep 2009

SILK IN THE WIND

PINNED TO CONCRETE

LIKE A CHRIST OF

ABSURDITY

A MILLSTONE AROUND

MY OWN NECK

YOU GET USED TO

THE PAIN

YOU HAVE TO

TO LIVE WITH IT

USED TO THE

LONELINESS OF BLACK

NOTHING

NOTHING BUT ME

TO TALK TO

WHERE THE FUCK

ARE YOU GOD

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU

I WRITE BECAUSE I

CAN

IT'S ALL I DO

IT'S ALL I HAVE

I DON'T CARE WHAT

I WRITE

I JUST WRITE TO

BURN OFF THE MISERY

SYLVIA PLATH UNDERSTOOD

SHE LIVED AND DIED

WHERE I AM

SHE WROTE

AND COMMITTED SUICIDE

I LIKE HER WRITING

I LIKED HER WILL

HER DARKNESS

AND HER LOVE

SHE IS GONE BUT

HER WORDS

ARE HERE

WITH MY WORDS

MINGLED LIKE SILK

IN THE WIND