To what purpose are these words?
In emotion expressed this way,
Though thoughts may be heard,
Few know what they weigh.

Is it vain to think your words have worth to another?
That your words mean more than the words of some other?

The purpose is more than mere appreciation.
It is more than the expression of deepest frustration.

Our words are the life of our generation.
We are the proof of dead poet's reincarnation.

Do not be discouraged,
They may not express heed,
Sharing words prove our courage,
And that's what we all need.

They say if you love me you wouldn't do anything that would strike question to if we would last.  

But what do they know?

They don't understand who you were in the past.

They don't understand just how much you've grown.

To think that in love no makes mistakes is absurd.

I've taken a boy who once flew into the bedrooms of countless girls and made him into a flightless bird.

I've clipped his wings of freedom.

Or more, he clipped them and gave them to me.

So, what do they know?

You've made mistakes, and a year later the shame on your face still does show.

There is still a part of you that desires nothing but to fly into unexplored bedrooms.

I know you'd love to drown in their womanly perfumes.

I'm fully aware that you wonder how soft her bed is, how her hair smells, how her lips taste. And it's ok to wonder, love, it's ok to be curious. Or so I say.

And still, sometimes you sit in their window seals and watch them through the glass.

You keep smacking into that window, you crazy bird.

Can't you see what's holding you back?

If not see, then you must feel the hook I've sunk into your heart.

And they ask me, regarding your infedality:

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Oh, yes, of course, it tears me apart. Who wouldn't be bothered at the thought that one isn't enough to satisfy another?"

But in the end I always come back to the same resolve: "You aren't finished changing yet."

They laugh and say that I can't change you. Trust me, I know that too.

I'm only here because I see your potential, I know you desire to be a better man, and yet sometimes your desire to be faithful wavers. But I'm still here to dry your tears of regret.

I am your shoulder to cry on.

Beat me over and over again and tend my wounds, in a few days I'm good as new and we can do it all over again.

You say it's the last time you'll hurt me, but love, we both know you can't say that. Not yet.

Don't change for me.
Change for you.

And if you do have backup plans, though you insist I am the only one, I do hope they won't fall through.

Even if I won't have the pleasure to be the only one, I'll always be your first love, even if I'm just a memory.

So don't change for me and don't thank me.

You have changed yourself.

I was only eating popcorn in the audience of you're drama.

Crying at the sad parts,
Laughing at your jokes,
Smiling with you as you progressed.

Your wings have grown back but you aren't using them the way you once did.

And now that we've reached the end of your film labeled "Change", I wonder if I'll be starring in your second movie as well.

Maybe I could have a larger role this time, don't you think?

When I close my eyes I see your face
And wish to feel your warm embrace.
I run my fingers through my hair,
And wish instead that you were there.
I wake up craving the touch of your skin,
The warmth of your breath,
You pull me right in.
Everything about you is extraordinary.
And how you surprise me with the weight that you carry.
The weight of the world you try to rest on your shoulder,
And when you’ve had enough you still balance that boulder.
I wish that you knew that it isn’t required,
That you give up yourself to lift everyone higher.
To think of yourself every once and awhile,
And do something for you to make yourself smile,
Does not make you selfish,
Does not make you cruel.
There is no such reason to stand by that rule.
You may not be perfect in all eyes that see
But there’s no other being more perfect for me.

Candle in a dark room.
Fire in the ice,
Laughter in the gloom.
Taker of breath,
Bringer of death.
Dryer of tears,
Bringer of fears.
Silent voice,
Obvious choice.
You intoxicate the sober,
Bring the chills in October.
As the bringer of destruction,
You then begin the construction,
Of a being anew.