Post for triskaidekaphobic ends.

I think I will write a poem, because there is nothing else to write, and I feel I must.

I can't delve below your bovine eyes
Not a compliment, but it's true
I wonder how the world might seem
In their browned and placid view
Though underneath, who knows
about you? Not me. Too true.

Another, better, instead.

I have lost my voice, and yours is on the way, and I should shop for a dress, yet I'd rather stay here with you, though I don't know if you want me at all and I feel awkward, like I've embarrassed myself. Your hair one minute, semi-rape the next, Lucrece.

I wish I knew what you really and truly thought of me.