You proclaim to be better!
proclaim to have overcame,
proclaim to have conquered,
but it will spit you out, chew you, stomp on you,
all over again.
my mind is a sick mind, of which there is no escape.

As summer leaves,
I watch a sweet little bird, who gives all his food.
I watch a sweet little bird, who gives all his home.
I watch a sweet little bird, hungry.
I watch a sweet little bird, tired.
I watch a sweet little bird, disheveled.
who gives and gives, until it becomes no more.
Confined in the cage called love, what a stupid bird. I think to myself.
Gone is the bird, replaced by my reflection on the window pane.
Caged forever more.

Soft hints of bergamot and cedar stain "our" sheets,
"our" morning alarm goes off,
but the weight of your arm is missing. .
I wake up with such sadness,
knowing that today, like every other day you're gone.
when you will return, I have no clue, seconds become eternity,
my love, you're leaving, you have left, you're gone.
The time has come to say goodbye,
I should be angry, I should be bitter,
I should curse your name,
yet I wish the best for you, good luck my love.

If you'd like I'll stay until our death,
From the bees and rays of honey that ooze from the sun,
Under the cold dead branches cradled under winter stars.
I will always be with you, my love,
so love me a little more. . .

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 hear your voice,
  nagging "put it back". . .
I hear your voice
  saying "it'll be okay". . .
I hear you everyday,
  am I crazed & deranged?
I just want to feel your love and see your face,
   for a moment in time,
      when you are not gone.