We have our whole lives to grow up,
And only so much,
To stay young.

I am not only some peaceful stream of the forest,
Twinkling beneath songbirds,
Watering romancing deer.

I am also the river that cuts through the mountain,
That carves the earth to better fit my ease.

The one bears dare not cross.
The cascading ire,
Raptors are unfit to tame,
With any bellow.

Men will come to know the rocky bottom,
And winding parts,
Men will come to know their helmets and life preservers,
Won't be salvation,
When I say that they shall drown.

These nowhere towns,
Mountain tops snow-capped long through march,
All else,
Enshrouded in brown.

Though people live here,
And seems they aren't broken down.

The paint peels from the motel,
The mother tends to her daze,
The attendant ponders the insects of the sill,
Tumbleweed the only things, un-willing of being still.

Life is good here,
In these hazy,
Background,
Nowhere towns.

I want to peel your skin as I peel your cloak,
Envelope you as any old song goes.
Curtains wail a blistering night,
Between you and I,
And the shutters ghost,
The furnace's spite is all it knows.

Don't be afraid to bloom.
Don't be afraid to be a late bloomer.
Don't be afraid to be a late, late bloomer.
Don't be afraid to be the last,
Late bloomer.
All there is to know,
Is that you will bloom,
And there is nothing to fear.

I feel you in my bones,
Like leukemia.

You saw my innocence and said,
I like that,

Make a wish.

Laughter and Loneliness
Fill the streets of towns
Some cuddle in comfort
Or
Linger on the lone ledge
And these events are caused by
Those that bury their heart in others
Those that bury their heart in emptiness
But remember
We all must carry shovels
So don’t mind the blisters
Or the uneven handle
Or the dulling of such a tool
For we can dig ourselves
Into anything
And out of everything