With all the mistakes that I've made,
This is the one I'm sorry for most,
It's carried with me, the pain I feel,
Haunting me like a ghost.
Every time I hear your voice, you can still say,
That you love me, and you think of me every single day.
But the pain, it won't die down,
The band aids are not enough,
I'm just about sick of myself,
Just about given up.
Because every time I hear your voice,
I still want to say,
That I love you too and I think of you every single day.
But then I remember our tragic end,
And how I asked you to be my friend,
And how then I watched you cry,
And even almost saw you die...
But now I want to hold you close,
Kiss your lips and love you most...
But the things I did,
The things we said,
The nights I cried beside my bed,
Would never compare to the pain I caused,
The many lives that I have crossed.
It's much too late to turn back now,
Even if I could, I wouldn't know how.
I'm not so sure, on what to do,
But I'll never give up - give up on you.

But with all the mistakes that I've made,
This is the one that I regret,
This is the one I'll NEVER forget.
The simple truth of first TRUE love,
Is that well never forget each other's hug,
Each other's kiss, each other's touch,
The way we loved each other so much...
And still do.
The way I dream of still spending
The rest of my life with you.
The nights I still cry,
The days were I lie,
to the one I gave you up for.
But with everything I've done,
To you, my love,
I'm so so sorry.

Because with all of the mistakes that I've made,
This is the one I'm sorry for most:

Saying goodbye.

The drunk at the bar found Aristotle at the bottom of his bottle.

But there's an important phone call coming from his shoe so he quits the pop stand, shoe in hand, and runs outside to take the call but it's only God saying nevermind, I can tell you're busy and it wasn't important anyway.

A pack of wild dogs are following me home so I invite them in and give them gin but they snarl and quarrel till I've had enough and I huff and puff till they take the hint and go down to the corner store, and I lock the door because loose dogs on ***** is the best way to lose your rent.

It's all peace and quiet at 6am, the rain is falling with malintent but the world is sleeping and I am keeping these hours from leaking out into the homes of the children next door where they slumber without worry so I hurry to maintain their dreams of fairies and flying while my kind is dying in the glowing dawning of the day.

But Aristotle sleeps alone in his bottle at the bottom of the bin, and the dogs have their gin and the kids dream within their great happy innocence as I spin another sunrise from the maw of the sky and then die until tomorrow when I'll do it again.

I get these recurring
scintillating
thoughts
about you
& my pulse explodes.

This heart of mine
palpitates,
envisioning
our wet holy pastimes,
genuine passions
unleashed.

I can feel your breath
on my twisting neck
& your magical gyrations
get the best out
of my wild imaginations.

This very moment
is so heavenly,
thinking about
being inside
of your own wanton-mind
takes me to the brink
of lust addiction.

You can fix me darling.

For the past year or so, I’ve been hearing some singing –
Or maybe it’s pounding…
Perhaps more of a ringing.
Though I’m not sure what it is, I know what it creates –
Some sort of bond –it would seem… To forge together our fate.
The sound is near ethereal… It combines our raw materials.
And while I can’t seem to find precision in an attempt for definition...
It’s been playing since we met –
It’s music with no musician.
But what’s a musician to music?  We only need nature to infuse it –
We’ve got music all around us, for us to listen as we choose it.

I think we chose the sound of steel in hopes of finding something real –
For as bad as it gets damaged, a simple fire is sure to heal.
This world can be a cruel place, and we’ve got the wounds to show it.
I’ve found life moves too fast, but your soul helps me to slow it.
With how we’ve been bombarded, our steel was sure to be discarded…
But the fires gave us shape… and our work of art was started.

So a sword is what we’ll be, the finest weapon of you and me –
And although we’re made of steel, we’ll keep growing like a tree –
More intricate and divine, as we stand the tests of time.
Free to be shaped, not burned, in our metallic design.