Sonnet One

Should I begin to say that you are like the first fallen snow?

But you fill me with more passion, you are softer to touch:

Spirited winds are in your eyes and make you grow,

there are endless comparisons, meaningless words and such.

I could take graffiti paint and scrawl “fuck me” on a bridge;

Be arrested for showing you how I feel?

Overdose on paracetamol and then throw myself off a ridge.

Take a blade and slit my wrists, blood makes sense: it’s real.

If I harmed myself would you notice me.

Or would you rather tedious metaphors, like how you remind me of the sun?

Burned by its splendor, I fall to my knees and make my plea;

Should I use Shakespeare’s words? (but they are his) I have none!

I’ll throw his words away like garbage; collect mine, I only have a few.

Come through your door with a resounding crash, simply saying: I love you.