Blizzard Skies
5-10-85
5-11-85



Dear Poet,



I love you so. The poem you wrote was full of woe.

The poem you wrote was so very deep, my stomach ulcers began to weep.

It made me cry and cry and cry. I feel the same way, don't ask me why.

I think sometimes I could be you. We are both so crazy and eccentric, too.

Name a date, we need to talk. 4 AM? We could go for a walk.

You see, it's this way . . . my life can't last. I need your help, because I am fading fast.

In your poem you speak of pain. A world where everyone has something to gain.

Pain can't survive when death is a duty. When suffering lingers death seems a beauty.

Make me a promise, you'll never tell. About my problems. About my hell.

I am keeping your poem by my side. So everyone will read it after I have died.

To bed with the crickets and up with the birds. For now life will go on too boring for words.

Good-bye Dear Poet, I hope your fame soars.



May the pain be with you.



Signed,

Sincerely Yours . . .