I cannot even
Begin to tell you how much
I've missed our friendship.

I stopped waiting by the phone
I stopped pressing my glass to the wall
straining for vicarious sound
I stopped waiting for distraction
to prevent me getting bored

I am alone
I am alone
but feel loneliness
only when I feel I ought to
The rest of the time
it is music
or the silence in between

I stopped pacing the floor
as if movement meant
I was doing something

I stopped looking for love
as if desire were the same
as feeling something for someone

As if holding out for change
was as good as holding a person
as if sleeping alone
caused dreams without reason
as if snatches of warmth
gave purpose to the seasons

I stopped collecting forget-me-nots
I stopped bleeding out my liberal heart
every time there was suffering
or hate in the spaces where
love should have been

I stopped waiting for someone
to doctor the still
where sorrow pervaded
the canned laughter of living

I stopped looking for someone
it was only then
I could start forgiving

tears keep falling
and I'm unsure why
there are bottled up feelings
deep down inside.
This usually doesn't occur
at least not to me,
I mean sometimes I'll cry
but not continuously...
I miss so many
and the past sometimes,
can hit me.
I feel excitement for the future,
a future that has us together.
Now my throat is hurting
from this unwanted weather.

Inner decay,
My defence no longer intact
Barriers broken.
Compassion tangled up
With the oldest revelation of pain.
Unrecognisable to my former incarnation,
I was a lover.
Desirable. Unstoppable.
Before the rot set in.
You wouldn't know me now,
If I am still "me".
I miss the love given
So easily.
I miss the gaze you gave me in that
Smoky nightclub.
I miss being held like I had value,
Golden against your heart.
To feel loved —
It's just a memory.

Truth or lie,
Not so clarified,
Is it beauty that you seek or physical desire?
My heart pounds for you,
But there's poison in your head,
My heart is full of madness and regret,
Believing you and your small talking romance,
I'm tired of fantasizing love stories that start with, 'Once upon a time'!

Mister Blister, there he goes!
His shoes, they open for his toes.
His jacket has no sleeves at all.
His trousers, well, they just might fall.

He is a coarse and hairy sight.
He limps and dares not stand upright.
He has a shopping cart to push.
His bathroom is the nearest bush.

People yell and call him names,
and talk about the way he shames,
the neighborhood, and those who "care"
about the world they say we share.

But, Mister Blister is my friend.
He always has some time to spend.
He cares about what I say,
and remembers this from day to day.

He knows about my cares and fears
and what I try to say he hears.
Perhaps the others are too old
to see without life's blindfold.

I wish that he could freely live
and that the town, he could forgive.
They just don't know you like I do.
Mister Blister, I'm glad I do.