The little things, the little things. 
Oh how I love the little things, 
One applaud,  
Sweeter than an audience of cheers. 
A dollar bill, found on the ground, 
More joyous than fifty-thousand made in a year. 
A simple wave, 
Awarded from a stranger, 
A tiny smile,  
Donated from a neighbor. 
The little things, the little things. 
A grand reward, for little labor. 
Oh how I love to see, 
A puppy wagging his tail with glee. 
More charming, than visiting a zoo, 
Awash with lions, elephants and monkeys.  
Or a humble bumble bee, 
Making friends with a delicate daisy. 
More admirable, 
Than a tropical rainforest, 
Breathing in a beautiful land,  
Such as Papua New Guinea. 
The little things, the little things. 
Don't you just love the little things? 
So cherish the peasant, 
Pay no mind to the king. 
There's more to this life, 
Than diamond rings,
And acquisitive dreams. 
-FBS

Come back to me. 
I yearn your bitter, yet velvety touch. 
You make me blush, 
I miss you in my lungs. 
Come back to me. 
You fill the void that you re-create, 
Every time I let you escape, 
From a crippled wage, 
Or when I'm caught with you,  
Perhaps, an inevitable mistake? 
Through warm eyes of glass and scarlet,  
and a poise futile to mask or fake. 
I surrender myself to you, 
I miss you in my lungs. 
Come back to me. 
Your tenderness so tempting, 
An alluring angel, bleeding heavy dulcet scents, 
Your essence, oozing of citrea and spice. 
Your being, quite viscid and so dense. 
A forbidden love, or merely a voluptuous vice? 
I miss you in my lungs. 
Come back to me. 
Penetrating all anguish and woe. 
Your pungent kiss flows through me, 
Like lying hushed, in a beautiful, warm meadow. 
When I'm with you, there's no where we cannot go, 
Whisk away my poignant echoes. 
I miss you in my lungs. 
-FBS

He has the temper of a bull, 
But he's a good man. 
With tattoos that seem offensive or cruel, 
But he's a good man. 
And yes, he's quite the criminal, 
But he's a good man. 
Always breaking the rules, 
But he was my man. 
One of the first things you told me was, 
"I'm not really supposed to be in America". 
You rascal, you. 
You know just what to say,  
To make a woman like me fall for you. 
Old enough to be my daddy, 
But he's a good man. 
His best friend's a crack dealer, 
But he's a good man. 
And ****, was he skilled with a blade, 
**** near killed about three men. 
Yea he liked to cross dress from time to time, 
But he was my man. 
My Silas, even though your driver's license says otherwise. 
Never cared about your real name. 
All I remember is that you told me, 
That I was a good woman and to never change. 
And even though you and I, 
Both know that your insane, 
I wish I had the chance to tell you, 
That you’re a good man, 
And to never change. 
-FBS

Midnight, A cold night in November. 
Mama braiding my hair with her hands so tender. 
Hearing moans of fright in the air, she said, 
That's just your daddy and he's having nightmares again. 
Mama why you puttin' up all them knives? 
I need to protect you, your brother and I. 
Then she cries, he wants to take us with him when he pulls the trigger. 
I won't allow a ******-suicide. 
When I sleep and hear a creek I open my eyes. 
'Cuz he just ain't in his right mind. 
But mama told me, mama told me, 
Don't be afraid of daddy, he's a good man. 
He's seen a lot of things that others couldn't withstand. 
He loves you more than you'll ever know, 
But he's falling prey to his demons, 
So who knows how long till he goes. 
-FBS

Two tickets, for a train to down under. 
Take me with you, for my birth was a blunder. 
Walking as blind energy, from day to day. 
Giving up the hope to pray, as I lay, 
Myself down, in my self-inflictions, 
False predictions and true addictions, 
Resist the urge, as I stand by the kitchen drawer. 
I'm feeling sore, playing with my demons more and more, 
They lied to me, until I finally fell to the floor. 
Father, why didn't you do it when you had the chance? 
I've asked God many times to put it in his hands. 
I suppose, it is not my time to escape, 
As I ask the reaper to open his gates. 
The next stop, could be 5 or 50 years away, 
Everyday, I wish it was yesterday. 
Everyday, I pray it could be today. 
What do you do, without the courage, 
To use your own hand, and all greater forces, 
Are against your wicked plan? 
You walk as blind energy, from day to day. 
Giving up the hope to pray, as you lay, 
Yourself down, 
In  your self-inflictions, 
False predictions and true addictions. 
Resisting the urge, as you stand by the kitchen drawer. 
-FBS

Yin-Yang, push, pull, always switching directions, 
Digging deeper, future bleaker like a chronic infection, 
Help her climb back up, otherwise she's drowning, 
Always feeling demoted, never in line for a crowning. 
She lives in the moonlight, but always searching for the sun, 
Fighting with her hands and never reaching for a gun. 
Her tormented soul, her loving mind, 
Feelings of betrayal is the sum. 
Facing the war, but always wanting to run. 
She keeps going when she's always feeling done. 
Yin-Yang, push, pull.  
Her soul's a harp, 
But her heart's a drum. 
-FBS

She is within an ever-lasting atmosphere, 
She is beneath the never lasting core, 
She prays, searches, hopes and fights, 
To find this never lasting door, 
A door leading to peace and promise, 
She is running out of time, 
So why do all reject the spirit of such a mind? 
A loving mind, a suffering mind, 
This spirit, hurting from every demise. 
Her spirit is her own guide. 
Her vices, demons and cries, 
They are attempting to turn the tides. 
His sea is too great and too strong- 
When the tides continue to rise, 
All of Lucifer's lies, will burn bright, 
In front of the eyes of the blind. 
Hate in her heart, love in her soul, 
Bury the hole; bring hope for the beautiful. 
The hole of no hope, no faith and all fright, 
Searching for the greater good, 
The site of all sites. 
The door of promise and peace is shutting, rapidly so, 
Creating space to open the door leading to truth and mercy.  
-FBS