Into the depths
The darkest of places.
The darkest of hours.
The sun refuses to rise,
for the night has been unkind.
This vile city is washed
in film and filthy street light.
The sun is ashamed
to illuminate the darkest of corners,
the most resilient of sins.
It would, for self-pity,
leave us to fend for ourselves
against the endless,
dawnless - night
with nothing more than
seedy streetlight to guide us,
and no more common sense than
that which we can find in
our complete naivete,
to defend ourselves with.
And so we are forgotten.
And we roam so blindly,
and so embittered towards the sun,
that is shall fear to ever
break bread with the empty night,
which is now our existence, again.
We are the shadows.

She is a whisper.
She is the night.
She is something,
truly, to behold.
And in that whisper,
she is nothing.
A delicate breeze
carrying the most familiar of scents.
She lingers for awhile,
makes you wish and long
to hold her forever,
and then she is gone.
She is beauty
in its rarest and truest of forms.
For she is fleeting.
The secret of her charm
is that, too soon, she is gone.
If you were to scratch her surface
to see what lies beneath,
something strange you would find.
She beautifully broken,
Shattered symmetry inside.

If I were to tell you two things
One truth. One lie.
If they were both equally possible
and impossible.
How would you know which I have revealed,
and what I still hide?
If you were a smart man,
you would not seek your answers from my eyes.
Long ago I taught them the importance
of the secrets I hide.
No, they would not betray me.
Though revealing they may be,
my secrets they keep safely.
You would not listen to the tone of my voice.
Because I am an actor on this stage,
every lilt, every giggle
has been rehearsed for this play.
You would need to find some other way
to try and confound me.
Don't expect it to be easy.
I am not a book to be read.
Don't think I will tell you how to see me.
After all, what kind of fun would that be?

I saw you there.
The glowing embers at the end of your cigarette
gave you away.
All I could see was your shape.
Pierced by your eyes, glittering,
as you caught me, mid-stare.
All you were was smoke
and vacant mystery.
And then you were gone.
You vanished into the night.
I was your last drag
off a dying cigarette.
We were hot and deadly.
We burned everything in our path.
We set buildings in flames,
and burnt bridges that can never be rebuilt.
I was your last exhalation of smoke
into the cool night air.
But you left me something to remember you by.
You gave me your cancer.
You lit me up fast
and got me addicted.
And now I am nothing but ash.

I keep tearing open my own old wounds.
Maybe I like the pain.
Maybe we both do.
I can't stop trying to convince myself that I'll never be good enough.
I won't give myself a break.
He won't save me from my own hell.
He has his own to deal with.
To put me through.
I feel less and less important by the day.
I'm the pretty petal on the breeze.
Worth a moment's pause to wonder over,
but not worth more than the passing thought.
No matter how I try,
I've never felt important.
There's always something better.
The pain reminds me not to let my head float away in the clouds.
Happiness is for someone else.
Someone more deserving than me.
So don't get used to the feeling.
It was never supposed to be mine anyway.
That's not my place in life.
I'm the stepping stone from despair to daylight,
but never to be taken on the journey.
I'm worth only leaving behind in search of better things.
Better love, better people.
I'm the shadow that reminds you of the light awaiting.
Go in search of the brightness,
the sunshine,
the air worth breathing.
I am only quiet reflection.
I live in the in between place.
I think this may be where all of us, who should not have lived,
go to dwell.
No real purpose.
I was never supposed to be here anyway.
And so I fade.
With time, they all forget.
I was not meant to be remembered, anyway.
Certainly not to be kept.

In the twilight of harsh day
The melancholy sinks into silence.
The chill, the grey.
Neither dark nor light.
We cast no shadows,
Leave no marks.
Our secrets are as safe
As our silhouettes that are,
For now, unseen.
The flame we wish to start
Only smolders,
Not yet ready to brighten
Our darkened corners
Our guarded eyes.
We are free, for moments,
To feel our sharpest memories.
To bleed in peace.
In the twilight,
Our pain is safe.

You won't read about it in the papers,
You'll only feel it in your head.
Tonight's one of those nights,
And I'm dreaming about dying again.