I open the attics window,
For I crave a cigarette,
I see trees,
Clothed in snow,
Under white dots,
That some call stars,
It is cold,
While cigarette clothes me,
And warms a poets heart

To be truly heard, would create fear,
They would question their meaning,
Distort the balance of self-images,
A chaos of truth can't live within,
Ripping the paint away,
Underneath just an empty canvas

you find a person,
and get caught,
in their broken life,
this is when,
you should turn away,
walk away,
with good consience,
and when you don't,
you are,
but a good person,
**** their sorrow,
to your already broken soul,
for there seems,
to be,
room for some more,
every last drop,
you ****,
and when they,
finally smile,
this is when,
they walk away,
wonder why,
and when,
you have changed,
cruelty,
of being,
but a good person

Am I not brave
  enough to love,

Is my heart
  still in it's place to fall,

These questions
  haunt me and call to shore,

For I am the sea
  so rarely calm,

One drop of water
  in the shore,

Some moments later
  dry and gone