Anaphora

To You, Who Will Never See This

I wonder how hated I am.
I wonder how much you hate me.
I wonder if you would smite me to the ground if you saw me,
I wonder if you would relish in my throbbing pain.
I wonder how I became a deep rooted sinner, and
I wonder if I am the cursed one, forever walking the earth.

I wonder, what could I have done?

My voice was the leaky faucet, dripping
and left unattended. When the clock
fell down, and all the ticking chose
to cease, so did my eyes, my lips
my tongue, my heart, my all. Now,
I wonder if I will ever forgive myself.


This needs serious help...but I am working on it. It's hard to do this form and make it look nice and tidy.


The Shower

I said it to the head.
I said it to the water, hard, hardened water.
I said it to all the alabaster tiles, here's to stains.
I said it to the mats, sopping in my filth.
I said it to the rod, daring to hold the weight of my body.
I said it to the curtain, the bastard better not fall.
I said it to myself-- over and over again--
One mustn't cry over spoiled, spilled milk.