I can only touch you
                                                           if I close
                                                          my eyes
                                                    you materialize
                                                        you are not
                                                           just a prize


you are the lie


                                                         I like to hear
                                           like you're near
                                                  like you're here


                                                  my dear




       by 12:00 you are mine

                                             let's get this going
  before the alarm rings

I need to be there when she sings

                                                     my name

on her lips

   my breath on her skin

                                           in the dark we're alive

                                                 at the break
                                                    of dawn


                                                       we die

for

                                                   you are just a  lie

We keep playing the same game and doing this old dance.
Is it me who should change the pace and give this a chance?


Paint me a picture of the "what could've beens",
as I ignore my surroundings and try not to wince.


I miss that familiar touch that has never been there,
as I trace the imagined kisses and pretend that you care.


My glasses are dented but I refuse to fix it
so I roam around a dark room that I thought was lit.


I heard music from the other room,
wishing to be a part of the celebration,
but the party never started it was just an illusion.


There's a banging on the door and I hoped it was salvation,
but when I opened it, what surprised me was brutal retribution.


I was soaked in the acid of truth and freedom
and was reborn in the collapse of my heart's kingdom.


What I thought was a love story is now my eulogy
I'll give my thank yous and goodbyes but never my apology.

The faces around me belong to the dead.
A question rises on the top of my head.
Is this the underworld of the breathing?
Am I a Eurydice who’s been left waiting?

I ride the train from East to West.
Each day of my ride, I come to detest.
Is this what passes for living,
merely existing but not experiencing?

In the light of day, dreams slowly fade,
in the darkness of night, nightmares invade.
Will I only be, one day, food for the earth?
Or will I eventually see life’s true girth?

Wishes and desires of the past, I now surrender.
“But to yield so easily, is it right?” I wonder.
Will I still be able to wear the smile of mirth,
and see that my existence really does have worth?

I fear that my soul will forever walk alone,
on this hackneyed land, in solitude I moan.
Does acceptance provide absolution,
or does this act of submission be my obliteration?

Is faith synonymous to folly?
I ask and doubt for I always feel weary.
Do I need a savior to provide consolation?
Or do I hold the key to my own salvation?

Day by day the tree of hope withers,
my soul being corrupted by intruders.
Ghouls and ghosts of reality,
eat away at my sanity.

It is maybe in insanity that I may seek heaven.
The paradise of the broken is teeming with madmen.
Happiness or truth, it’s always either or.
Your reality cannot be your home forevermore.