Inside I rattle like there's lose change in my rib cage
And as a tin man I wonder round waiting to rust.
So she stole some shiny parts
and pried me piece from piece.

She placed my head on her shelf
with a mirror to my side so I'd look at myself
and sang me sweet little lies
'til I opened my eyes.

With each night she spoke to me
she'd tease me with a lit cigarette
so I'd beg her to breath
Smokey life back into me.

Now armed with everything
from hands til torso
I feared the day she'd let me go...
But she'd build me up no more.

On our last day she left
with my feet on the floor
at the end of wide open door
and a note in the hall so I would find her.

A shelf now seemed a cliff
but I fell for her
Scrapping along I picked myself up
And pulled myself together.

With a wobbly walk
I reached her note
"I'm so proud of you..." She wrote
"But now I'm the one who needs building".

On a pile I found my former self
pried it open and saw some change
and used it to buy the paint
that still shields me from the rain.

Wondering round again
a life time later
I'd see a familiar silhouette
I wasn't able to forget.

And brought her head inside...

Another age-old tale
of love too frail
to save two lives torn
by love's self-destructive scorn.

If love were
a worn leather chest plate
doubt would be a
piercing sword
to seal a lover's fate.

Trust, a slippery step
on a steep climb
that if her feet would falter
she would never again be mine.

Has this calloused heart
become too cruel?
but what of
once deceived
and twice a fool.

So I have learned
that Love is not blind.
For the faint flame
of love in one's eye
slowly starts to die

Never again can i stare lovingly
For all I have is uncertainty
She starts to tear when I am near

For my stare forever holds
The weight of
"what if?"

Let's seeds of sadness fall
for only what I water
will grow.
Let tired flowers wilt
before cold winds
blow petals of old away.

May the ground
take its beauty back
and wait for warmer days
when I will water
smiling seeds under summer skies.

And only after Their spring
would I be content
leaving dry lands,
And on that day
let me give back
what wilted petals paid
to me.

Isn't it ironic that
Silence screams so loud
we drown out the sound
and pray the voices pipe down
" they don't sound like me anymore
  they won't go away and each day
  a demented voice pulls me under
  and now I wonder...
which way is up?"

Isn't it ironic how
playing cards can cut
like a razor blade
and red dice rolling
become an evil eye that winks.
Does that cloth
on a tricky table
feel as soft
as the lining on a nearby coffin?

Isn't it ironic
when love's soft touch
devolves into lust
and broken hearts
disintegrate into rust,
when a silent embrace
becomes an empty bed
but that void only deepens
when we cheapen
our body and soul
to feel whole
for a mere moment.

Isn't it ironic
we want a world
so far from reality
we blur the one we have
as we snort, smoke and swallow
our problems away
only for them to return
on a much darker day.

A hundred vices
**** a thousand men
and in solidarity we stand.
Let one brave soul say
I have been bitten by these...
and more
so many more!
Let me lean on you brother
Let me comfort you sister
Let us stumble forward together!