My Baby

November 3, 2007
I love my baby with all my heart,
and every drop of blood.
She is in my mind, my body, and my soul,
and when she is gone I can feel them each tear.

My baby holds my mind together,
but it crumbles when she leaves.
She makes it clear and makes it feel euphoric,
but when I hurt her, it turns muddled and tortures me.

My baby holds my body's bones,
and without her it is weak and numb.
She holds my tears so I can see light,
but when she leaves, they rush to my eyes and I see nothing in the blur.

My baby is in my soul,
or should I say, she is my soul.
When she leaves, my soul leaves with her,
and I die, nothing but a hollow shell.

My baby doesn't deseve a cold puppet such as me,
but without her I tumble to the floor.
I never mean to hert her, I only wish to make her happy,
but I splinter and draw her blood with my touch.

Perhaps I am selfish in my for her warmth,
but I have no one else to hold near when I am cold, alone.
My baby has shone me my true life by holding me,
but I feel as though I can't hold her the same way with my weak bones.

I do not know how the end this poem for my baby,
but my muddled mind can write no more without her.
I wish her to know how I care and love her,
and I wish to show her, and the world, what I would do for her.

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