And just like that,
I know my magical world is gone
It ended in a drunken haze,
On the last note of a higher-octane song

And where did the magic go,
When they spent the very last of it
And can I get it back,
If the old lyricists ever re-writ
Their last musical pieces
Capture the stars again from the sky
And re-map the venues with them,
To play one night like we will die.

Until last spring walks across the barren craig,
Flowers bright gold and blue in her hair,
When the sky unmasks the waking sun,
Siúil liom

And when the rains grow weary of deluge,
Making way for the moon across the Burren
Until the waves that crest the cliffs,
Flood over Moher

And when the last cairn is reclaimed by earth,
When it embraces the stones, the last castle wall falls,
Until that day, filled with ancient song,
Tá mo chroí istigh ionat

It is all well and good for nature to shun humanity,
For humanity has done nothing but destroy
And though there are those who exercise empathy,
There are far too few with its imploy

And even if we tried changing ways,
It would do as well as wishing on fey,
For it's too late to undo the damage done
And the great prize for this earth we gamble,
Will be tantamount to none.

Frail, beautiful butterfly,
Kept inside a net
Carnivorous and short-lived,
Crushed within a palm,
Like a bruised flower petal,
Longing to belong,
Growing inside a season
Trying to stay strong
I am back on watch,
Kept inside a bubble
A bracelet falling off and lost,
Broken, without a latch,
And trampled for my trouble,
I am back on watch,
Dangerous, carnivorous,
Poisonous as plant, grotesque as butterfly
I am strong, vibrant, eclectic, a warning
I think this is why, it's why, and why.
I am carefully guarded, and as easily
Discarded
Though I try, I try, and try
For butterflies only have a season,
As plants flourish and die inside a season,
So this is the reason

Don't ask me about the future-
I just let go of the past-

I'm floating in melted gun-metal
I'm firing nails into the sky
Alone on this planet of red and she-devil
I'm emerging as a butterfly-
Piano keys of ivory and emerald,
Finished in exotic leather.
Dripping in pearls and ostrich feather-
I play on and on, to the die
That's been cast on a hand-drawn tabletop map
Lined with seafood bibs
I laugh as my lungs turn to dust
And wonder if this is all there ever was-
I'm floating in aluminum, above the skyline
Peering down on this world I create,
The tin-foil stars around me, oh how they shine
But it's not enough to sate.

Goodbye my quinoa islands,
Beaches of grain where my toes sink,
I'm dreaming of better editorials that ran-
While my thoughts brought me over the brink.

I'm trying to love him - the way I should have loved you,
Like someone who's grown, like someone who knows
How to heal with someone, how to slow
How to forgive, and how to talk
%^&$, how to calm down and how to unlock

I'm trying to give him peace
I'm trying to find my own release
I'm trying to let go, find how to say no

I'm trying to love him - like I should have loved you,
In another time, with a better mind, with a clear conscious
And a blatant state of intent, with the words of love I kept hidden,
If I'd been better, what then? but I,
All I can do, is fail to love him,
The way I will always love you.

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't