She's gone
Little dove.
Gun
Little love.
Done
Little love.
Done gone
Little love.
Done done
Little love.
Gone done it
Little love.
Done ****** it
Little love.
****** up flew away
Little dove.
No love from the glove
Little love.
Nothing done done it since like my
Little love.
Nothing quenches, nothing touches like my
Little love.
Oh, how it hurts to think of my
Little love. Lovely dove.
Dove with blood on the wingtips
And a tear for each eye
Little love.
How oily little love flies now
A paintbrush of pain in the evening sky,
Oh how she smears the heavens
And in my eyes the colors of the rainbow
Blur,
Lovely painted dove.
How i wander naked, these streets at night,
My shame and rage my only garments, and i can barely stand straight.
Oh, little love.

Still haven't let it go,
Don't know why i can't,
But every hint of laughter,
Is haunted by the shadow of a tear,
I regress as i digress trying to avoid stress,
Back to the bottle again,
Back to the rage,
Back to the fallow, shallow grave
Trust falls into the arms of a skeleton,
Dreaming of God wishing he was Satan,
Cause then my weight would make since,
Seem more like i'm getting lifted
As i'm falling deeper and deeper,
Lost you, now i'm gone.
Fading away everyday, a peice of myself
Constantly flaking away, they say
Love ain't supposed to feel this way,
But what do they know about love anyways?
If i find myself
In the twisted embrace
Of a semi's grille,
Shrouded in steel,
I'd finally feel the crush of love again,
Easier said,
Than done.
Wish you could see
The raven's leaving their keep,
Each night they flutter and rush
Out of my body,
And i run through the streets
With an insatiable thirst
******* the life out of me.
How i wished things had worked out differently,
How i wish i'd worked it out differently,
Hadn't made so much of the mess
Between you and me. Now i'm handling
A lot of things on my own, the mantra
Becoming a slogan, gotta move forward,
Move now, fast. But am i healing?
I can't tell, don't think so love.
But this is what they've all been asking for.

Disaster starts at home,
in the hearts and minds of lovers.

No insurance to sustain us
in the aftermath of storms.

A hurricane force, burst the windows
bowed the walls.

The joists screamed, twisting.

the roof hollered Hosana.

All night long, I made you stay
in that house covered in rain.

Shackled to the refridgerator
I waited feverishly,
you waited to go.

I didn't hold you, just had to have you,
a firefly I shook in my glass bottle.

A firefly, I wished those wings would break.
You wished your wings would break.

For different reasons we remained,
love of prison,
or love of self.

And she looks at me,
and I know,
it's done.

And she looks at me,
and I know.

The worst part of it all,
is that her eyes look the same
now
as they did
then,
but she just doesn't look at me
the same.

What a shame.
A **** shame.

And She looks at me
seeing all the things I've done,
and there's no going back
now.
And that's a shame.

Love is a shameful thing.

She is merely
an empty drum
against which
your head bangs.

She has been empty for awhile
now, but you still plow
away.

It's easier this way,
to remain. Better than sorrow,
and the magic of pain.

She has been echoing all this time,
the sound of your skull
is a thunderclap in the air.

With each concussion
lightning spits
through your eyes.

But she is merely a drum,
been empty for awhile.

The blood runs down
your dented forhead,
and tears stream down
your face,
but you will remain,
it's easier this way.

Easier to do
what you've always done.

Some men
wear the heaviness of their souls
on their sleeves,
like a badge or a scar
for all the world to see.

Some of these men are kind
and their kindness
is their scar.

Some of these men are arrogant
and their arrogance
is their badge.

Whether they be civil or indecent,
at least they know.

At least they know
what's what,
what's going on,
what bubbles
beneath the surface:

That for man and beast,
one is not so tame,
and one is not so wild.

That savagery
is not so unbearable
when the time calls,
and compassion
is not so alien
when the time calls.

These are the men of our time.

I had a lover,
who was beautiful
and kind.

She grabbed the sun out of the sky
and grinded it into a powder.

She blushed her face with it,
and each time she passed
she would turn the flowers.

Her hair was a river,
it flowed for days and days,
and ended in a single teardrop.

Her hair
made the world
wish for more rain.

When she called me,
I answered.
Her voice freed me.

Her pupils
were the nexus.
Her iris'
were a foundry.
When she blinked,
everything darkened
and I wished she would never do it again.

When she slept,
she snored
peacefully.
And I drew her close to me
just to be closer to nirvana.

It is only fair
that such things
cannot be sustained.

That is too much beauty
for only one man
to hold.

She is a gift,
to the earth.