"I'm broke."
Why?
Why are we broken?
Who broke us?

Cut away at my throat
You don't even know how deep the hatred runs in your veins
Sacrifice me in your diseased logic that traps your mind
Body and spirit broken beyond repair
You've always had a good heart
Please shut your mouth and still your hands

Summer will be here and we have to be perfect
I have to let my scars fade again
So at the beach you can prop me up as your rag doll
I just want to be invisible
All but one, I don't want to see me any longer
Faking functionality so that you can keep your pride

I just want to diverge and break off
Disappear to "where no one knows my name"
Well, all but one, the only one

They threw me from heaven
when the pearly white of my wings
Faded to ashen grey
and darkened further with my mind.

They say the white feathers mirror
an angel's purity and righteousness.
That my blacked feathers reflected
a rotting heart and malice in my mind.

But what righteousness is there
when one being decides
the everlasting fate of many?
What is right and what is wrong?

An angel with blackened feathers
is no longer welcome in paradise.
For once I understand,
There is no justice in faith.

The fallen shall remain fallen,
The disgraced angel shall not return,
But shall instead find the truth and
take comfort in knowledge no longer forbidden.

Let's write ourselves a poem,
You be the verse, I'll be the rhyme;

Let's find ourselves a feast of words,
And slash them down on white.

Let's sit ourselves in a quiet corner,
So temptation isn't bright;

Let's be ourselves for each other,
And spend our days in the light.

Let's be together for once, forever,
The rest can wait in line;

Let's not change the mellow mood,
And forget the needle and the pine.

Let's lay by ourselves for a little moment,
While I spell our love out on your spine;

Let's share ourselves a life's dream,
And paint it on the starry skies.

Let's pen ourselves our memories,
To remember for all of time...

*I told you we'd write ourselves a poem,
But you ditched me for the dime!

There is a frozen lake with a grand piano in the center of it.
There is an older man playing songs from our childhood as we stand around him and sing the words to his music.
The cool breeze is getting cooler and snow is threatening to fall at any second...
But there is soup on the stove and warm couch for us to sit together and lay down.
Drink a glass of wine, raise a glass for all our times.
Smiles, tears, dances and doors slammed.
Children born, parents gone, friends say hello and just as quickly say goodbye...
The old man is tickling the ivory and the ebony keys - songs like brown eyed girl and I guess that's why they call it the blues. He plays Cole Porter and Ira Gershwin tunes too...
We hold hands and I want to take you in my arms and sweep you off your feet, fly away to another world...another time...
But the lake is frozen, the snow is beginning to fall and the soup is on the stove...I can smell it from here...
So say goodbye to the sadness, say goodbye to that old man, playing Fire and Rain...maybe tomorrow we can do this all again.