My heart...

It beats
It breaks
It loves
It hates

It flutters like thousands of butterflies have taken over my body
It is happiness, it is pain
It keeps me alive, sometimes a prisoner, against my will....
My heart is fragile, so easily broken...

How do I listen to my heart.. when it has mislead me before?

Do I open it up again, exposed naked to the world, when it's caused me so much pain?

As long as it is still beating, I will roll the dice and take a chance, one more time...

The Cold Wind thunders from the north,
Gusts of longing and desire,
Spreading a frosty landscape,
He's feared and loathe,
A ****** with ice-piercing eyes,
A loner untouchable,
Yet he aches,
You see, He loves the warm breeze,
He's been chasing her forever.


Heat radiates from a high-rise apartment,
Red light searches the night,
A Beacon of lust,
A heart begging for mercy,
Cold rushes to the Heat.

Two lovers,
The wind watches through a pain of glass,
His lips cools the night,
Howling Chimes, pounding thunder
A jealous wind,
She whisper's "Last Time",
He lays the money on the table.

With a tear in her eye, she opens his confinement,
The chill soothes her skin, he shivers,
She steps onto the ledge,
The excited, crazed wind seizes the opportunity,
Reaches for her, caressing and kissing her aching neck,
pouting lips, and supple *******,
reciting poetry in her ear to her soul,
Passion abode, she lets go and falls,
Plunging into the dark,
Faster than her furious past,
The wind catches her, time freezes, as they float
Quiet
Intertwine forever.

He's jealous of death and will not give her to him,
Commanding a wind storm from her tortured life,
Destorying everthing in its path,
She's swept upwards to the heavenly stars,
Only to to be laid gently on a crisp bed of ****** snow,
Where he breathes life into her broken heart.

During the coldest of nights, he's there
Watching her, lovers come and they go,
But she always comes to him,
because she loves the "Cold Wind"
Firewalker.


























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I tried crushing each memory like a shortening cigarette, but it's easier to allow yourself to die than to forget.

I stood in front of the mirror-the wall behind me scribbled in green-and I watched myself shave the weathered, brunette hairs off my cheeks, chin, lips, and jawline that you found so attractive and wrapped your lips around like a future reunion of, "Hi. I'm sorry for goodbye. I'm glad I met you again before I thought I would die."

And, in my head, I watched you approach my lips with yours.
And, in my head, I took a step back and started to tear up.
You asked me to kiss you, in my head.
And I shook my head, in my head.
You said you were sorry and got help, in my head.
You were better, in my head.
You were healthy, in my head.
But I'm aware some things may only live and die and say goodbye in my head.

I sat on the edge of my bed, no longer in my head, watching "Good Morning, Vietnam", and I remembered where I was when I learned that Robin Williams died. I remembered poking your thigh, in Starbucks, and wondering how long it'd take you to feel my finger or if you'd try to ignore the feeling, like most feelings. Your lips were red and your pants were black and on white, were black cats. And you were afraid to ask for your coffee. And once you sipped on your coffee, you left a red stain and it still appears in my head. And I relive every thing while being dissacioiated with my current life. And every kiss is a red stain in my head. Oh, great, we're back in my head. I guess we never left.

And I remembered when I knew you were dying and leaving and when I knew you had died and left. But I drowned those memories in ***** and suffocated them with smoke, until my body collapsed and until my lungs learned the cursive in every exhale.

In my head.
In my head.
In my head.
In my head.

Here I sit in the dark, watching 80's films. Because thirty years ago, there was no you and there was no me. I imagine it was a simpler time for the both of us.

A time where we never met.
But I'm glad I met you.
A time where we never kissed.
But I'm glad I kissed you.
A time where I didn't say,
"It's okay.
It's okay and it's always going to be okay
because I love you too."

It's not okay. It's not okay. Itsnotokay.itsnotokayitsnotokayitsnotokayitsnotokay

Tomorrow I will wake up, put on a t-shirt, boxers, socks, jeans, worn out Nikes, and a beat up flannel. I'll check my pulse, as I do my vitals, and I'll take my medications. I'll look at my bank account and determine how much money it'll take to forget you and how much more I wish I had so I could help you.

Is there a simpler way of saying I love you, or should I continue writing this album?

You have no idea what goes on in my mind:
thousands of flying insects,
buzzing,
biting at my brain,
spreading darkness,
and dots and dots and dots
of agony.
I'm spotted and I'm haunted
by sounds of the world below.
Madness turns me into pieces,
it eat me out alive,
it makes me bow my head down
on dirt,
and the dirt starts climbing up.