Shower your love above my cold heart,
Hold me forever til death do us part,
Forever embraced will I now sleep,
And dream of the love that never will weep,

The thought of me is a passing breeze to you,
But the clock strikes 4am. and where are you,
The thunder of my mind cracks and whips,
You aren't here,

You are off, long past my message goodnight,
Probably still awake enacting every betrayal,
Or likely just asleep without concern of me,
Which is worse?

Yet I will hold my broken spirit till morn,
Whenever you grace my humble figure,
I'll hold the betrayal to those same eyes,
That will always start with I Love You.

Like a scholar in love with life,
And a warrior in stormy rage,
That's how he lived,
And that that's how he lived,

Your memory is a whip my love,
It strikes my heart raw and ******,
The halls of my mind ring with my screams,
The simmering steam of my emotion seeps through my skin,

Why so beautiful her fleeing grace?
Do my fingers resemble claws to you?

I never sought but to love her,
Still I sink in failure in this lonely place,
My tenebrific weather returns to hold me,
The clouds of my mind drown me, choke me in the gale,

Storms **** me, but never fast enough,

I own a little blue boat,
And I lay in shade through night and day,
I lay in wait for my heart and pray,
To the god inside of my hopeless boat,

Where oh where have you drifted yet?
Where oh where did your sail set?
You said you would return to me,
My love in all my heresy,

But I have seen from a god inside,
I have seen my love has lied,
Rage at sea...and burn my boat...
To hate do I my life devote,

I often find myself staring in awe of immortal things. Though my hands haven't always been there, they have always been there for me. And though I can't fully grasp the concept, I know one day my hands will be gone. Or at least the molecules will be changed to some other form. Maybe ash, or maybe dirt. Maybe my hands will be the fuel for some tree when I die, a tree that will be cut down for paper for a guy who has enough talent to write words that actually make people cry. Maybe not. Yet somehow I feel young, a lie made true by the pain I feel in my shoulders, like the old man inside is pacing back and forth on them not at all happy with how many more decades he'll have to wait before he can finally come out saying,"Ahh...now my shoulders really hurt." I just hope my old man has cool hair when he comes, and cool hair when he dies.

The piano was just a sound,
The drawings could never cry,
The kisses were never close enough,
And the words are never right,

The pull and drill of whispers,
Their dance inside my head,
Cold claws in cords of steel,
Reaching through the cracks in my skull,

The medium is never enough,
The emotion is an ocean of expression,
This tiny tub is too full of water,
Sinking under the raging surface,

Why so much pain,
So much blanketing loneliness,
This ache for more,
This lust for more,

To have back what was stolen,
To take what will never be mine,
To love in endless romance,
To drink in smooth recline,

Boom,
Snap,
Crack,
Break,

The ugly crooked grin,
The ***** air so thin,
The putrid water taking over me,
The sky so bleak and gone,

Where is all the love,
Where is all the peace,

What has your son become?
What is a man but another hole,
Wanting and needing the world,
Does your son want for anything?

Monsters crawl and hide in shadow,
Is your son a creature of the night?
Does his heart bleed for the wanting?
Does nothing fill his nothing and bring him..

Nothing...

Did they take everything?
Did they take everything from me?

Lights out,

The night does not reward rebellion,

Feral creatures wait in your heart,

Lights out,

No end will raise your rotten form,

A monster is what you are,

Lights out,

You cast aside the eyes of man,

Buried your body before you ran,

Lights out,

Now close your eyes little demon,

For you dance with the devil tonight,

Lights out,

I wish my heart were more water than stone,
So that I could cry for your departure.
I wish my head were more glass than bone,
So you could see how much I care,

Do recall the day we met,

The spring didn't know how bright it would be to me,

I recall I saw as I rounded the bend,

You, sitting on the little bench,

The wood was worn, and brittle broke,

You smiled and stood, to humor me,

To hug the empty soul you saw,

I do recall the day we met,

Your smell, your hair, your airy laugh,

I tried my best to move like you,

To imitate the beauty beholden to you,

But my ungraceful hands,

My coarse, curly, weeded hair,

Will never do to feel like yours,

If I do recall the day we met,