I travel trough the heavy rain
I sit lonesome on a lonely train
I play blues
These days are grey,  these nights  are blue
my mind keeps coming back to you
I play the blues

I travel with desire
Past houses lit on fire
I play jazz
Windows lit by sundown
My train-seat old and rundown
I play jazz

Rainbow roads in colored blurr
Pretty little towns I'm sure
I play swing
Past mirror waves and open sky
My stomach tingles, wonder why I
Play swing

***** feet on ***** train
Skin so white I see my veins
I play punk
Impatient taps and flickering lights
Soon the day will turn to night
I play punk

Head in the clouds, mind at ease
Longing for the morning breeze
I play Pink Floyd
Memories hanging from branches
Passengers sharing brief glances
I play Pink Floyd

I'm coming home, I'm on my way, but I travel still...
I travel not by force... yet not by will
Music of choise as soundtrack to the silent film
beyond the windowsill

Silent night
Unholy night
Cold, alone and filled with fright
Hands are shaking, sigaret in hand
Recalling better times if they can
Noone knows who they are
Noone knows who they are

Heaven above
Streetlamps for stove
Flickering lights in search of love
Eyes that have seen things you won't understand
Hearts so heavy they needed a hand
Knew they'd never get far
Knew they'd never get far

Ghosts all around
In this ghost town
A different silence filled with sound
Some days they see a smile sent their way
In endless night that is their dawn of day
Their eyes shine bright like the stars
Their eyes shine bright like the stars

I wear shadows like a cloak, weighing heavy on my shoulders
Mysterious sounds bid me up to dance
The fireplace is lit to keep my corpse warm
Silent whispers, lights that flicker, this is the darkest hour

I see myself from deep within
Trough chest and not trough eyes
Smiles have faded, my heartbeat rests
This is the time when day becomes night

I swim in the sensation I borrowed from yesterday
I sleep midair, creatures crawling, fighting for my attention
They put on a show, like gleaming embers
Until they become the morning sun

And I keep spiraling

A box of prescription drugs on my table.
It holds your name. Stating what is wrong with you.
Flaunting the details of where your body is
Failing.

You notice the hair on my pillow.
Shame.
Worried looks.
Anger.
I find none of it in your eyes.
You buy me razors.
"Do you need any help?" you ask.

Kisses on my bald scalp.
Beauty. Now we match even
Better.

She's rock 'n' roll as if it was an
Element.
She walks to the sound of

Cobblestones worshiping her
Heels like the desert its rare
Rains.

Nightclub beats slow
Down to
Match her pulse

As she passes.
Narcissus loving himself
Before her; she mirrors

Men's fragile egos in the
Tears she produces when
Passing them with me

On her mind.
She's rock 'n' roll
As if unsilence itself commanded

A goddess to choose a body
To possess; her
Back straight

Like time was of no such thing
As the essence.
She slows down to match

My humble
Mortal
Pace.

I die.
Then
Not.

When I touch your
Forehead with
Mine

The energies between our
Eyes dance within
An inch of

Immense impact.
I could drop you over ruins;
Rebuild cities.

You are so beautiful.
You are so young.
Won't you stay just the way
You are...

Days of pretending over,
You bask in the feeling
Of finally being seen.
I watch breathlessly.

Inside you is cotton and
Gold. I want to hang you on
My favourite wall and
Die gazing.

I want to put my most
Precious belongings in your
Chest and turn the
Key,

Toss it over my shoulder
And name you
Safe.
I put on my writing ring

And do this.
Tomorrow I smell you.
Tomorrow, I awaken again.
We count down and live.

Relax.
Cry yourself dry, then
Sleep.

Your turn to be
Child now.
Rest.

This is safety.
I am familiar
Cover.

Spring love.
If either of us dies
Tomorrow

It will be in celebration of
Winter passing.
Spring smells nice.

Us Norwegians live by
The weather.
When the

Hair stays on her
Pillow we both
Shave

Like there's no
Tomorrow.
I spell "love" however

I want.
Death adores its
Favourites.

Life and
Love hold hands and
Walk. We walk a lot.

Why does rain smell?
How come leaves make that
Crunching sound when walked
Upon in autumn? That
Great October Sound.

We love seconds and minutes.
Hours and days are for the
Weak,
Weeks and years for the
Hopeless romantics.

Nothing hopeless
About our romance.
We just shut up and take it in.
Love? Photo album in words?
Yes.

We know it.
It's like laughing when her
Dog Shelby
Kisses me, and I kiss her back,
Wet snout and all,

And she carries that kiss to her
Owner;  
So beautiful by the mirror,
Asking me:
Should I wear the black or the

Purple dress? and I lean back
And enjoy her trying them
On.
We are the Moment People.
We snapshot microseconds

And capture them
Like this.
This is why we're poets.
We help them remember.
We write for the ones we love.