I sit and think of thoughts of you Some days a lot, most nights a few But not of past things we've gone through Not of things we said we'd get around to Not of things we always planned to do Because all that's left are things I wish were not true Those are the only thoughts I have left of you
Good times are so few and far between Hardly seen Never lasting If I never find another, what do you think that could mean? Blink and you'll miss 'em So I remove the eyelids, see, I can listen And I don't sleep for a reason I hear that's deaths cousin... ...it's not the weirdest thing to believe in
I compose these sentences anew, sometimes in timely thought, sometimes in utter urges; yet always they be too few; to express but a mere three words: "I love you."
There is no other feeling that's quite as dear, as to hear one follow up on these three words with your name. In spite of our poetic aims, those three words the human heart claims.
Just one, red rose, Red lips, cute nose, A smile, bright eyes, An hour, time flies, Dancing, the rain, Car drive, fast lane, Forget, the time, Useless, bad rhymes, A drink, or two- No, never that few- The future, the past, The outcasts, outlast.
Just like the full moon To me, you are a boon, What have I done till now, if it wasn't for you With the ending month of June, You approaching as rain first due. You are amazing, you are one of those few, Precious, rebellious, and always new.
Savor the taste of medicine only to be drunk by the few. Incented by the scent of a peace that few will know, and fewer hold.
Bittersweet blossoms fold to the earth in showery haze, He cries of days long gone. Relishing the birth of memory's daze. Praying for the pill to find the end of his endless sound.
Astounded, he lays: Two way mirror perception, but with no reflection. Expectations drive the nail deeper into false perfection's mentions of a better way.
Deeper, so the bittersweet blossoms may bloom, And pretend to be the medicine to be drunk by the few.
