the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

The hard part was
trying to convince
myself that it
was the right
thing to do.

I started to settle in
my skin for the
first time as I began
to believe
that these bones
will one day
be a thing of the
past.

But like the dust
that has collected
on my hindered-hopes;
I will brush off
these worries
of a better life,
and use them
as my motivation
for tomorrow.

it's the same as before
or the other time
or the time before that.
here's a ****
and here's a ****
and here's trouble.

only each time
you think
well now I've learned:
I'll let her do that
and I'll do this,
I no longer want it all,
just some comfort
and some ***
and only a minor
love.

now I'm waiting again
and the years run thin.
I have my radio
and the kitchen walls
are yellow.
I keep dumping bottles
and listening
for footsteps.

I hope that death contains
less than this.

Chyeanne called me last night.
She told me that she wanted to be home,
and I could feel the longing
instilled with every word
her weary voice spoke.

But I don't know if I can leave them, Chyeanne.
I just don't think that they'll understand.
And although I love the way the sunset looks in your eyes,
we will always be
distant lovers
for what could
have been.

I can't give you
the world, the
stars, nor grant
all of your wishes.
But I can give you
my word when I say,
           my life is better
           knowing that you
           are a part of it.