As if I could write you,
Like I knew you some other time or wanted to.

Drones of moisture, I feel it like heavy crafts of dew,
Poured, slow and over hours.
Open pourous capsules dripping with the thoughts of yesterday's ideas

Over, over, over, over, over, open, awe.

crackling, burning skin, itch.

Mine iris, Mine, Irene.
The swing in the dark, a spot light.
But dulling, finally, dulling.
A can in your pocket for later, where you might need to destroy a memory.
Are you carrying me later? when i can't see.

I am alone now.
The sound of your smile in the dark irks me.
Even if I never hear it again,
the soft crackle of your lips to your teeth as you stress your skin and bunch your eyes makes me sick.
Your cold, medicated, coffee breathe.
Laced with death and the inability to escape it.
I wore your charms as graces, pinching my skin.

But I have no where to run.
My mind is an enigmatic maze, and you are every dead end.

We gather ourselves one more time
Strong with faith that this will be the last time
I'll try harder and you'll be happier.

You're sad again,
I'm not sure why,
We don't say anything in case it gets too warm and you need me to leave.

I'm not sure why I do this anymore,
It used to be love and stolen smiles,
Now all you do is steal yourself away leaving me to wonder when you'll be fine again.

I'm not sure why we do this.

I have dreamt you away now and gone into the sea where they tangle about my legs and drag me to the pressure bent bows of the night ship.   
All at once you cradel my falling face, and dance into the air that eludes my lonesome laced dreaming. 
I cant even cry, as crying in water cant even be so.

It takes a lot of love to stop a jump, a fall, a fright.  
It takes too much love to straighten my tie. And tighten it round the door handle.
You can’t imagine how I hate this.
I climbed up the ladder. The top step was too narrow to sit.
I stood till I couldn't
then I jumped.

Living alone in two rooms,
Built on love and shallow fires .

He followed graves for life.

Like his father’s yellow hands strapped to the coffin brass,
He claims the black coat and stained shoes in fertile grass.
In enough time he sits alone,
But he can’t bare the heat.
The goat as he was known was blessed as he descent the street.
“ironic” but what else can it be.
Whispers of this hall reflect on sorry feelings.
To think he lived with death like this and died in a familiar scene

I live inside an empty room,
lights configure a devilish stare,
every shadow a reminder of somewhere I could be
Would I be anywhere else, I would run and smile
But I can't say for sure, I am the only one keeping me here.