Sweet musky scents,
Tingle my red runny nose from the cool desert air.
   Two tattered pairs of converse high tops intertwined,
       feet on the dash of your rust bucket.
          Lana on the speakers, the smell of **** and cologne,
              so close and so far,
                 we were two lines never meant to intersect.
cruel fate,
    cruel memories,
         I will always love you, yet you can not say the same. . .

--------------------->
--------------------->

we are parallel lines, never meant to intersect,
     longing, hoping, to meet in another life.

Imagine the sky turns red,
Imagine the palm trees in flames,
Imagine the desert turns to ice,
Imagine the night never comes,
Imagine stars do not dazzle and grow bright,
Imagine, the world comes to and end,
Imagine, our hands intertwined,
   as we stare into one another's eyes,
         as we clutch one another, would it matter?
                  as we take our last breath, would I be enough?
It would not matter, for it would never come to be.
For, this is just a dream, of my imagination.

The open window, a temptation for wings.
Sweet angel seduced by the purest nectar of the stars,
Your arms two cocoons of wings,
The gravel, the weeds, the cricket that sings all mark the path,
"Flee, Flee, Don't ever look back"
Yet your pour the smooth liquor in your glass,
one,two,three,five,ten it never ends. . .
The smell of cigars and upholstered leather, cling to the horror of the solitude as you take your last breath. .
All you are remembered for is "he was just a drunk"

Raindrops on my sea,
Let me float amongst his arms,
Deaths sweet lullaby

Amongst the tattered cathedral,
weathered chipped stone facade, scared by time.
Spires reach skyward like ancient fingers around me,
On my knee's at the pew,
I pray to god,
Pray for love,
Pray for an ear,
Pray for someone to just listen. .
Take me in your tattered fingers,
Pull me from the nightmare of my mind, save me from this weakness.
Longing to drown, only to breathe.
Longing to swim, only to sink.
Longing to fall, only to fly.
dull frescoes of angels, corrupted by cobwebs judge me.
There is no sound, only the hushed reverence unspoken.
Under lofty arches, my pleas are but echoes of weakness,
longing to die, but afraid of death.

What I had, is what I did not have.
Perhaps what my heart should have wanted,
each love song, a curse and blaze.
That singes and burns into my heart
I hear you, hitting me,
forging me,
into a statue forever stuck in emotional wanting.

My love,
Tongue of vitriol,
amongst ripped pages.
Amongst unaltered belief of a winged partridge
at my back beckoning my faults.
Tears that stream, like trees with broken nerves
that never touch the ground.

This is what I see in the darkened hour,
This is what I see in the mirror,
amongst the pillars of the chapel
a figment of my imagination,
I am but a pigeon amongst a sea of doves,
incapable of words, incapable of love letters like Rilke the poet.
Only capable of vitriol at the tongue
scorning love, scorning life, scorning death
yet living it. . .how ironic.

I look at the clock,
     waiting for you to get home.
I speak,
      only to be cut off.
You look at me and sigh. . .
     You are always right. . .
So please get your things and go. . .
     my heart pleads no, but my mind knows
there is no love, no warmth
     and that's okay,
        I'll be okay. . .

Have you ever laid on the floor, as you stared at the cosmos of paranoia and depression of your creation thrusting you into damnation?
You are quick to give advice (pre-judgement),
but unless you licked the patch,
    to cover the constant itch that burns in your heart,
       you have no clue. . .
of the sea of solitude that ever wraps you, within its cursed cradle,
  the song of longing as each day passes, grows louder,
      the voices in your head that counsel you,
           the feeling of elation as the demons take you. . .
you have no clue. . .
   no ******* clue. . .
you are quick to judge. . .
      as I die living. . . in a state of constant elation.