monologue?

i won't die, i suppose?
this is my history, after all
i liked looking at the sunshine
and i liked smiling at people
sometimes, i hoped for a good day
once a year, i cried for a friend
and i longed for a long holiday
without any care, at all.

i won't die, i think?
i made people smile?
i made people think?
then again, i made people cry...
insisting my love meant everything.

i won't die, i hope?
still, i've got people to kiss?
and have my lovely dog to pat!
i've got someone's tiny butterflies in my huge tummy
and most importantly,
still haven't read the sound and the fury!

i won't die!
you hear me?
this is my history!
i am the one who writes it,
and i will be the one to end it!
whether you like it or not-
oh, my, god.

daydream

smile interrupted on the stroll?
head looks to a side:

what heartbreak! what fear!
ebbing from
a disconsolate figure
of a man standing there
looking you in the eye
meaning well, maybe?
possibly, possibly.

know him;
about, heard
of, thought and
recalled
retrospectively
constructed
shared
memories
preserved like derided souvenirs
bought nonchalantly
but increasing in value sinisterly
day by day
minute by minute
moment by moment...

...and now, this man, whose sorrow
your doing,
hears with those broken eyes of his:
what tranquillity... what solace...
what you have, he has not;
what he feels, you do not.

so you still smile,
so miniscule a flinch in your gait
while subtly waking up from this sudden day time slumber
having just felt the soft squeeze on your arm
coming from your sweet new lover.