Thy Final Sleep by S.L. Roberts

When death upon thy fevered brow,
     Did think to reap a kiss,
And the mournful tune of the nightingale,
     Did long to meet thine lips,
When the baleful moon did shine,
     Ever so bright,
Upon thee in the sordid night,
When the gates of heaven and hell,
     Swung wide to greet thy face,
The 'witching angels sought to grasp,
     The ground beneath thy feet,
So carefully then thy shroud of sleep,
     Did grace thine resting head,
And the ardent vapour of death,
     Hung o'er thy final bed.

Just Smile

I heard from my English teacher that writing can help you relax.  Personally, I just want to get through this whole mess.  Before I go on, I should probably explain.  A few months ago my mom died.  Even writing this right now my eyes get all misty.  It's hard because everyone tells you it's going to be alright, that things will get easier and you'll eventually move on.  The truth is, they don't really know.  Dumb answer right?  But it really is true.  They have no idea what they're talking about!  So what do you do to feel better?  Where do you turn?  Because even the people who have lost someone close to them, they don't know you as well as they think and can't say they understand.  They aren't you, they don't know!  Thus, I decided to write about my piece of crap life in a vain attempt to piece together a little bit of the chaos and let everyone know that I'm tired of just smiling and saying, "I'm fine."
So until next time.