I cough out nostalgia on cold nights,
It is beaten and battered.
Lilacs are laying on the lime colored floor.
September reminds me of a time I thought I had
already mourned.
Those brief encounters with you were seismic in size,
(I just didn't know that then.)
Lovers and roses only intertwine on cold,
autumn nights.
(I just didn't know that then.)

The river flows through shards of sharp glass looking
words.
The mystic memories were the only things trapped deep
in my cauldron.
I threw in remorse for a better taste, but,
it only left a sour sadness were I once had graze.


I cough out nostalgia on those cold,
misty mid autumn nights.
Those lilacs have suffered enough;
it's time to go home.
Those lilacs have suffered enough;
it's time to go home.

I mumbled through the thick woods,
searching for those screeching howls.
On purpose, I step on dead leaves,
Leaving a trail you will know.
Carved in trees are lovers that I mourn,
the woodpecker tapping the trees makes me feel at home.
This trail has left my interiors mangled and decayed,
my spirit drained, but yet, I'm sane.
The howls seem to be searching for me now.
Finally, they found the trail that they know.

I smile when the find me in the end.

Another day left locked up in the back of your head, but yet,
you forgot to write again.
Drinking leftover whisky and clutching at your throat, oh ****,
you forgot to write again.
Reading a book you found under your bed, you feel alive again,
so you pick up a pen.
The paper is ready and you're unable to breathe, when suddenly,
you remember,
I never knew how to write.
It happened again.
I'm dead.

Wearing hard hats in permanent wars leaves irony trapped
between bricks.
Whimsical cement barrages the broken man,
as if God trembled on his throne of Gold.
Sadistic laughs echo out of a war torn time;
rivers of blood only flow in June.
A rag with embroidered initials dances in the sky,
only visible by the truths that it once told.
I swear I saw an angel in the sky.
The signature of man is only visible once the
rifles stop shrieking.
This humid day leaves hearts cold.
Once eyes set upon a hope gone black, all is lost.
Only the howling wind knows what we have done.

Those moments that I wait for;
I always hide in between binders.
Rusted pages telling me sad stories;
Please leave me on a shelf
(That way I can matter to someone)
Just let time pass.
Bend my pages so that,
when you're ready,
you can start off where you finished,
like you have, before.

Your busy hands caress my brown skin,
please read me again and again and again.
Write notes on me,
(It shows you cared once before.)
In the long ago,
when miracles did what they do;
save me.

Blue faced God,
He's Melted on the ground.
My heart is trapped in a pod,
It's broken and left proud.

There is pain between my teeth,
Wrapped in marmalade sheets.
I'm unable to walk, or talk,
In my path are ****** defeats.

I was never young, buy always aware.
Unsure if those sticky truth were
Merely cracked lies, like the ones
Inside of me.