What's the point?
Enjoy the ride?
Smoke a joint.
Now go and hide

Wait it out
You're just paranoid
Let out a shout
Just to fill the void

Feelings of emptiness
It's all in your head?
Inhumane levels of stress
Just go to bed

Nighttime rolls swiftly back again like an old familiar sin haunting the days end
Motivation creeps in, empty shoes ask where ya been to my bare footed skin
Worn down socks lay on the floor halfway out the door as if they couldn't take anymore
Life"s a bore if you know what"s in store, but if no one"s keeping score, then what"s it all for?

No matter how many times I made her ecstatically moan
No matter how many shots I made while in the zone
No matter how many things I"ve learned then shown
Just please always let the battle be forever known
That in the end we will all transcend again...alone

Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.

Her body is poetry and her curves are the words.
Her eyes are the hook and her lips, a cryptic verse.
As much as she pours out, there's not much you'll really know.
There's memories she hides, and even more that she won't let go.
She's simple at its best, yet chaotic at her worst.
She'll catch you with her hook, and leave you with her verse.

If I were to write about you
I’d write about the stars
and how beautiful they look
and how beautiful you looked under them
I’d write about summer love
and spring
and fall
and winter
I’d write about arguments
And mistakes
I’d write about all the things i should have said
and all the times i didn't have too
I’d write about how songs remind me
and movies
And people
and places
and adjectives
and parts of speech
and worst of all you remind me of you
I’d write about the beginning
and the end
and that wonderful in-between
id write about how you made me smile
and made me cry
I’d write about broken hearts
and braking hearts
and having to piece them back together
I’d write about you
and about me
and about us
and what we used to be

Nothing's asked
and very little said
two strangers lie
on either side of the bed.

Life ticks on
Like a rusted clock
to the eerie routine
all dreams are fed.

Yet there's a spark
that lights a fire or two
in the moonless night
it shines like a dew.

Morning comes
and rings the bell
pushing the tiny sparks
into hell.

And life ticks on
like a rusted clock.
Two Strangers live
on each side of their bed.

I fell in the sea
and it was made of love
And the love became the taste
Of saltwater on her neck
And she taught me to dive
With my eyes wide open
Looking through the water at the sun
Breaking the surface.

"It's like just like dying," she said.
And I heard "diving"
Because it was like diving
But it was also unlike diving
And so it didn't seem a silly thing to say
Though all the things she said
Like them fishes in a sea of love
Hooked by a line at night
That came out of a boat
And made us shure
That the unsaid things
Were both unsaid
Were silly.

I forgot my shoes.

We made love between the boats
Gently pulling ourselves along the rope
From one wine dark evening
To the sunlit morning below...

And even my lips
Remind me of her
Waking so close
Her eyes could touch mine
Nice dream
Like the lift of sunrise
Between us
And the need of nothing else
But these warm shivers and...

Blistering Barnacles!

I just fell in the sea
And it was made of love.

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.