Tell me how
since letters, texts, and calls are never enough

Tell me why
the distance between us could separate us apart

Tell me where
the exact point where you stay in the congcrete jungle where dreams are made up

Tell me why
you live in New York and I live in another city left behind

Tell me how
to tell you that I love you even we've never seen each other in person

Tell me how
to send you boxes of letters and words from a city that left behind to a city with inspiring big lights

Think I've tried
to make it work out but it just couldn't

Think I've tried
to spend the same horizons as you

Think we've tried
to make us work but we just couldn't

Think I've tried
to tell you that I love you but you just didn't

I sit here, alone with my thoughts,
trying to write as the sound of that
infernal colck rises and falls..
And rises again.
That infuriating tick-tick-tick
TOCK!
I visualize a different muse
each time I write, but when
I search for a muse...
TOCK...tick-tick-TOCK!
Back at square one,
trying to remember an idea
I almost had before that clock
scared my muse into hiding again...


Written By:
Andrew D. Robertson

i killed flowers for you
(they died)
i killed daisies
(to be specific)
you told me you loved me
(you lied)
i saw you picking out roses
i thought they were for me
(i was ecstatic)
you gave them to someone else
(i died)

When i cry the earth shakes
A devastating earthquake
When im sad the worlds cold
Similiar to Antarctica weather
When im weary people fear me
Over my yelling  its hard to hear
When im in love everything is right
Like A beautiful summer night

Abracadabra
Meaning "I create as I speak"
Every magician's spell
I dreamt of this magic everyday
When I am a child
Sometimes tried the spell
To create some magic
But I thought I was not perfectly doing it
As I fail to do magic
Years passed and I realized it's just a trick
Done in fraction of seconds
The same magic I can see in this present world
Many are trying to do magic in real life (cheating)
I don't blame them
They had no other chance
Hoping we will have a change

Down this street again.
Grabbed my pen, quarter past ten,
Standing by the nightstand; pacing; standing, then pacing again.
Scratching on my head; chewing on the end of my blue pen.
Yellow pages; Keep re-calling, head turning, forward; I'm hung-up again.
Wrote it down, but still doesn't read the same way it sounds in my head.
I'm in that zone: Dead. Erased a book and a few more chapters.
Edited it so much; changed the title after: The END.
Went from being on a roll, to: NEVER again!!!
Stuck on writer's block;A one way street; that starts with an end.
Where legends past, and good writers are destined.