Little bird, little bird, fly away home.
Your mommy is waiting, your daddy's returned.
Singing for their baby, singing for the world,
little bird, little bird, fly away home.

My heart keeps trembling, my eyes keep closed
The earth smells like sunsets, your skin like a rose.
Kisses under pine trees, knees deep in mud,
My heart keeps trembling, my eyes keep closed.

Take that chance, love, take that chance
with fairies spinning round, dance your dance
Make your magic, make your love
Take that chance, love, take that chance.

*Don't let me go.

Submissive, permissive
The son and the father.
Furtive, pensive
The mother and her daughter.

A family of sides,
a relationship of colors.
Blue, grey, black, white,
of the bruises on each other.

Daddy Dearest takes a sip
of his favorite poison chosen.
Mommy Darling breaks a hip
upon the floor she lays frozen.

Girl and boy, husband and wife
Innocence, poor girl, is dead.
When she leapt off the ledge of life
a smile glued on an empty head.

Dead girls make pretty pictures
against the son's sweat-stained wall
it's so hard to follow ardent strictures
when all he wants is love from them all.

Husband drunkard, daughter gone.
This poor family's gone awry.
Son of obsessions, mother harmed,
why can't this family all just die?

The man creates with his singular hands
the grandeur of his heart crashing upon the Earth.
That lonely structure will eventually rot away to the
center of it all if no one takes its meaning.

Bridges will collapse into the sea, pretty little
castles corrode one by one. Their kings never came to
inhabit them, their princes never ruled accepting towers.
No one came to know them, no one respected craftsmanship.

What's the point of having a beautiful set more glorious
than the acting, if no one bothers to speak of that paint? The
crowd gathers for the show, the actors consume easily-distracted
minds. Foolish personas trample the work of one.

Move on, creator of souls. Relinquish your command of the pieces of
art that makes the show. Find that place where, if not appreciated,
that wayward audience finds painted scenes and plastered dreams
of lovely quality.

You're worth the hype, you know. Don't be an idiot and continue
to place the burdens on yourself because you don't think you're worth
more than pieces of wood and layers of paint. If that craftsman doesn't
find his home soon enough, the only thing I'll remember...

Is your absence.

Create what you love. Build what your heart tells you to build.
Become what you love.

I believe in you.

I used to hate men, I used to want them dead
for all the crimes they imposed upon women
for all the hurting, all the shame
that they created.

I used to hate love, I used to want it destroyed
because it never amounted to anything but
painful lies, missed phone calls, and a sorrow
deeper than the heart.

Back then, under the dull glow of a monitor
an ache hit my chest. I need something, someone
to blame for all the pain I felt. I needed anything
to keep me from falling into disarray.

The burden of growing up never gave my shoulders
any time to relax from the weight of the world
resting atop them. Instead I collapsed into
the earth, unaware of it all.

Like a phoenix, I've revived from the ashes of
old, dead hatred, alive and fully aware of past
mistakes. The old me did not die, but was
transformed anew.

I used to hate men, but now I've become one.
I used to hate love, but now my love's outnumber the stars.
I used to hate, but now... I hate no more.

The sun will one day engulf the entirety of humankind.
Its ever-present flames will gulp down history in greedy swallows,
tearing away soils and sea and sky without preference or thought.
Nothing will be spared then, nothing will be 'special'.

I don't see the sense in worrying about the day that it comes down to,
in the end of things around us. No mystical words of hope or whispered phrases can prolong the chemical bonds of a supernova releasing in an outward blast of heat and fire and, eventually, death.

The fields of the Earth glitter in the early morning, oceans swell in contentment of the new morning's bright gaze, layers upon layers of creatures chitter in the dawn of a lavender sky. It's alive down here, alive and well. We won't know what hit us until we're all cinders.

It's comforting, actually. There's no anticipation. You won't know until you do, and then there's no more pain for anyone. Why should we fear it? Why not celebrate all before it and all after? Despite our disappearance, the universe goes on and on, infinite loops of infinity sprawling infinitely.

Kiss the wind, kiss your sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, parents, partners. Or don't. Fill the earth with laughter, tears, screams, whines, moans, and, in the end, rattles of breath. Or don't. The future cares not about your achievements, the sun does not choose the 'nice' people to burn last.

Worry about your present. The future is full of hypotheticals that are impossible to determine. Let not the fear of burning determine you, let you determine you.

After all, in the end, we're all humans. What makes you special is your own decision.

When you cup petals between your fingers and hold them to the wind,
why is it that they always seem to disappear before you can reach them?
Why does the Earth make catching little bits of beauty so difficult?
Why couldn't I catch you?

At those certain times when gravity lets one float in the air, above humanity for a scant few moments, what are your thought up there? Do you dream of a weightless place? Do the birds tug you upward just before you tumble?

Where the sky and curving plains and fields meet, can you bridge that gap and meet the sky with open arms again? Do you look up in the sky and wonder what's up there? Do you smile at the little things at your feet?

I'm a troublesome thinker, you know, always wondering where you are, what you're doing, what makes you smile and what makes you frown. Each step pounds against unwilling pavement reverberates with endless listlessness. Will I see you again today?

Answers never do return unless I reach to you, though, so I sit here, eyes unable to truly observe what is in front of me thanks to the blurring amount of thoughts clouding my vision. Soon, the gap between my time and yours will vanish.

Won't you... at least stay a little while longer?

The heart trembles for things it cannot reach.
The bird leaves its nest open for attacks from above.
His chest hurts so bad.
Why did he have them?

Looking in the mirror, he notices it, the curse.
Curses made heavy weights on his chest, weighing him down.
His hair no longer drew his hair down to earth.
Thin hair, sharp eyes, curved shapes.

Oceans span between head and heart, aching.
Aching, it ached mom stop please no more don't look.
His remolded edges have scratches, the ceramic chipped.
Boy meets hopelessness, boy meets veracity.