For the rainbows and the stars,
For guitars, cigars, and scars,
To all the things I'll ever see,
I devote this poem to thee.

The lonely spider,
inhabits the still places
until they are gone.

As artificial light reveals my name,
and sunlight falls asleep across the sky,
I whisper to the mirror without shame,
And into the reflection I will die.
The Other Side is quite alike to ours,
but details shift and warp beneath the light.
Look outside now, and where there should be stars,
The spirits crawl within the glossy night.
But still the blind will stumble in the blue,
Oblivious, the truth lies underneath.
But slowly now the dead will slither through,
and holes they leave inside of you sprout teeth.
So now the flames within will always burn,
Reflection holds you, never to return.

I often feel an irresistible urge
to shake my head, static
racing across neurons from
chemicals, long gone.
Then comes the gnashing,
grinding teeth, and the
horrible, intrusive thought,
that this will never go away.
But before the thought finishes forming,
the feeling is gone. And I look in the mirror,
and think to myself:
"What the **** have I done?"

Gilead, oh Gilead,
every moment with you is a thrillead.
Roll up a dollar billead,
we'll snort lines till we've had our fillead.
And when the sky begins to spillead,
from the acid we've distilledead,
Go to the spot and we'll refillead,
with vibes at the spot when we chillead.

When the colors fall,
and the walls shake,
When the babies crawl,
and the old break.
As the light descends,
and darkness screams,
I close my eyes,
and the world dreams.

How many times has it been,
that I've thought, "Should I say 'I love you?'"
but held my tongue.
I think there is fear there, behind my eyes,
Because when you tell someone you've kissed,
"I love you,"
the words grow wings, and claws.
They grab at the heartstrings,
and pull at arteries.
But it's nice, the loopy feeling,
of love, of blood loss, of life.