Silver trails from the snail mail you sent, I
Store in a box. In my mahogany chest, right
Next to my heart and bones.
It still smells of the life time we wasted.
The coffee shops are empty,
I have grown sleepy, no caffeine tears.
In the bookstore that cold day last month,
I saw you. A smile of sadness was exchanged,
I hope that was enough.

To wish for a wish,
To break bread with you.
Maybe one day I can be,
What flies in your dreams.
At night I think and wonder
Why can't I be. What I am.
I'm always down trodden.

You always know
Where you're going,
What you are doing,
why you are moving
Around like you do.

So hopeful, so bleak.
I hope there is space for me
In that confidence.
I pray for nothing,
Just...please.

She is a lifted finger
A tapped drum, nothing
Some type of paper weight
Fraying at the edges, she's
our comforter our, big red scarf.
I hope she'll be ok till we finally
Realise our mistakes.

The thought of withering away...

The ghost of you won't follow me,
Though I try to lure you out.
Never do you fall for my tricks,
I never did doubt
Your capabilities and your wit
I know you float, magical broom
stick your finger in the air.
You'd hitchhike the galaxy
I know you'd dare.

You must pray for the fickle and weak.
As we all need to make it through the heat.
Your whiskey neat burns down the branches of your chest as you speak.
Expand into a balloon, the crowd won’t bow but shake their heads.
They can not believe this tale you live, the life in a comfy castle cove.
The girls back home cry, denying all this fallacy.
Really it can not be like this, this isn’t reality.
This can not be like you or me.
We aren’t merely copies, are we?
They cry tears in the shape of rapids that carve rivers down your cheeks.
To take her to the moon will settle, remedy this pain.
So give me a few years and I’ll get you there.
For now pray for the fickle and weak as they aren’t lost, but free.

You must pray for the fickle and weak.
As we all need to make it through the heat.
Your whiskey neat burns down the branches of your chest as you speak.
Expand into a balloon, the crowd won’t bow but shake their heads.
They can not believe this tale you live, the life in a comfy castle cove.
The girls back home cry, denying all this fallacy.
A fairytale facade or so it seems.
Really it can not be like this, this isn’t reality.
This can not be like you or me.
We aren’t merely copies, are we?
They cry tears in the shape of rapids that carve rivers down your cheeks.
To take her to the moon will settle, remedy this pain.
So give me a few years and I’ll get you there.
For now pray for the fickle and weak as they aren’t lost, but free.

As she sits upon a throne she sees all that is.
Nothing else is here, nothing else exists.
Life is only what meets the eye, past it an abyss.

The crown on her head, too heavy to hold.
Her neck slowly grows bent, as she gets old.
Eyes now sad, like a cow marching to the block.

Little does she know, she's only a child.
Nothing more than a dreamer at home.
Sleeping peacefully, surrounded by pink walls.