Blood on the pavement,
Stars in my eyes,
Broken glass seashells,
Dishonest goodbyes,

City light searing,
Burning through skin,
Sway and then stagger,
Never again.

Moments of sorrow,
Violence and grace,
A rounded remainder,
Imaginary embrace,

Seize and then silent,
Apologetic sin,
Cold glass concerto,
Never again.

After the flowers had all withered,
The ribbons bleached and frayed,
Our faults, lost and forgiven,
The cost both felt and paid.

As sidewalks cracked and crumbled,
Your palm print turned to dust,
Only memories left to miss us,
No beauty in which to trust.

Maybe I’m the last pretender,
The only flower on his grave,
The lone stubborn reminder,
Of a world you couldn’t save.

We are so far from what was,
With no ending yet in sight,
Just take that as a blessing,
It’s all I have to give tonight.

I was lost in the ether, subservient thrill,
Strong from the hunt, yet sick from the ****,
Give in and get over, sharp wits and clean swords,
One’s compass condemns what another’s good book rewards,
And all former rebellion, now practiced away,
I write all night long, but have nothing to say.

Seconds away for yet another day,
And too far now to know,
If what I say will matter anyway,
If distance helps us grow.

Just another night, another bed,
I drank to stay awake,
Left my name, you took my heart instead,
A trophy, something to break.

Fell in love with eyes, that cheap disguise,
Left knives inside my throat,
I felt twice as wise when fed those lies,
And “I love yous” you misquote.

Tonight, I watched you disappear,
And drank to fall apart,
Seconds away for yet another year,
And no clue where to start.

It all comes cloudy, far away,
And naked as the storm,
In costumes to keep us quiet,
And stranger’s beds to keep us warm.

A lack of answers begs the question,
Would I still be standing here,
If there was no such thing as failure,
If there was no such thing as fear?

Would I see the open road tonight,
Passing cities, hills and farms?
Or would I wait here until the end,
Dreaming of your arms?

It was loveless, lost and seldom planned,
Penned obtuse in steady hand,
We dreamed aloud as old men lied,
Then took their place as old men died,
And lay with what hope we could ration,
Drawn away in stiff staccato fashion,
To another dismal city street,
Holding on with trembling feet,
As time still breaks us, all we know,
Keep faith in loss and letting go,
This sacrifice, once worth the cause,
Now only good for cheap applause,
But maybe somewhere chance still carries on,
To catch on to us before we’re gone,
As we color outside limits and lanes,
Seeking freedom from these rusted chains.

We were either too young to believe in love,
Or too old to believe in anything else.