you forged your own steel in the molten lava of my belly, a pennyworth of paradise,
frozen tree branches dripping icicles down my back
this is what it feels like to be an active volcano
anatomy lessons are nothing like the curve of your spine while you're asleep
rising and falling like a familiar chorus
i know this dance well, i've memorized the steps you will take
locked it inside my chest and threw away the key
lake michigan warm underneath the mattress in your room
you, me, and stormdoor-fragile winter nights
you hold whispers in your palms like they're something holy
there's a word buried in your lungs, in the nape of your neck, and you don't quite know how to pronounce it
i can still feel your fingers exploring the dip at the bottom of my spine like there's treasure somewhere
you just haven't found it yet, and
you tell me my house is more like a graveyard, and
remember when we found red underneath our fingernails, and
remember when there was more ash in your hair than in the ground, and
i love you i love you i love you, and so on
this is a stolen book off a stolen shelf and it still says that i love you, and so on
we were never in love with each other, not how we were supposed to
"this will destroy you", but it didnt
you're bleeding on everything and my hands are starting to slip and grab my hand
(and this isn't how it's supposed to go, but i still love you, and so on)

I know you'll never see this,
But I just wanted you to know,
That even if you believe,
That she is all you need,
I need you.

I tried to let you know,
So long ago,
Before she was even back,
Taking you from me.
I love you.

You said you cared for me,
But if you did, why'd you leave?
No goodbye this time,
Because you pretend you're still here.
I miss you.

All I want is to be with you,
To care for you,
To let you in.
I want to make you happy.

But you cut me down,
You don't want me,
No matter how much I,
Bend to you.
I'm nothing.

mime,give me flowers in the dark
paint me a picture of gods
make me someone holy
when im dead i hope you cauterize the hole in your chest
sorry about the mess we left,sorry about the apple tree,sorry about the taste in your mouth
i hope its not too bitter for you
is this the part where i apologize for ripped sheets on a bed that never belonged to me in the first place?
sorry,sweetheart,sorry that i wasnt the right narcissistic ***** for you
is this the part where you mutilate a french love song?i hope it all works out for you
i hope you find an ax buried in the coffin underneath the apple tree
i hope you use it to demolish my house,i hope you find my corpse
and i hope you cauterize the hole in your chest

They talk about the
garbage like it
was treasure.

Man made
garbage.
Made in order
to keep the
creative side
from
creating.

Its all made
to uninspire
the otherwise
always
inspired ones.

They worry
themselves over
Trash.
Mass produced,
soulless,man made,
ball chasing,
over paid
Trash Heroes.

They're not my
Heroes.
My Heroes
didn't have time
to chase *****
and call it an
accomplishment.

These goals they
strive for all of
which were
created out
of nothing
for nothing at
all but to
numb the mind.

Trash.

They worry about
having more
while I secretly
worry about having
nothing more to say.

Conversations going
on all around me,
its torture.
I hear their
words and
can't help
but wonder if
they are hearing
what I'm hearing.

There's a vision
that stays with me.
A circle of
beautiful people
in stain free
clothes.
The kind of people
who throw
their heads back
before they laugh.
They're standing
around a street
person who wears
wadded up
news paper
inside his coat for
warmth.
They're tossing lit
matches at him as
he lays and sleeps
the sleep of the
invisible people.

For the longest
I dreaded the vision,
their cruelty is
unlike my own.
Theirs is inhumane
but legal and in most
cases it provides their
Godless insides
reason enough
to smile.

Mine is soul scaring,
memory aching,
and really only
me wanting to survive.
It leaves behind
deep embedded
stains in everything
that is you.

Now I find myself
no longer
fighting it off.
I need the
images the vision
provides me.

I welcome the
echo of their hollow
selfish laughter.
I take in the
whiteness of
their grinning
stain free teeth.

I need it all
in order to
try and
understand
their sickness.

As I continue
to survive  
amongst my
own
lonely madness.

Don't ask me for favors,
I am not free.
I just wanted you to love me,
Can't you see?
I gave you what you wanted,
(Thinking maybe you'd want me)
But you thought I was,
Just doing this for me.

I wasn't trying to use you,
I felt used by you.
But you were never sure,
What I wanted you for,
So used was all we were.

You tell me how you love her,
And you'll slip that ring upon her,
But you don't tell her,
(Of what I'm sure)
Deserves your biggest apology.

So don't ask me for favors,
I am not free.
All I wanted,
Was for you,
To realize you loved me.

an enigma…
a line…
a dot…
or a shine?


Who are we?
a sum total of our illusions…
or the choices of our delusions…
a window to our mind…
an absentia…
a presence…
or total blind…

Who are we?
energy…
or mind…
body…
or spirit sublime…

a lung…
a heart.
an *****…
a gland.
or an invisible cast…

the ‘hold’
or the holder…
inane
or a super natural plast…

Who are we?
the question perpetual.

Who are we?
question which shows ‘void’.

Who are we?
the question itself, a void.
filling, is but our indulgence.

to live our mind
to play our mind
we locked our ‘self’
we chose to forget.

The ‘self’ is.
we chose sleep.
the reverie we love…
but enough we have seen
and lots we have been.

the inner self beckons.
the sound of beyond…
we hear but neglect,
we respond some,
then again forget.

the waking, the reverie.
the ebb and the tide.

we lesser mortals,
ignorant of our shine.

some of us have woken,
we can’t lie now…
we hear the silence,
we know the flow,
we know that space,
where death doth not show.

As pictures fade and the temperature rises...
Her heart, plays no part
I'm no man of surprises.
Why are you so mesmerizing?
Why can't I shake this temptation?
Why do her grips make me sick?
Why am I suddenly shaking...
Eh
I can see what she feels
I've become her *** appeal
Is love truly real?
Am I just her final meal?
As she cooks up a thought that's unconscious.
She suddenly gets astonished
Men lie, men are deranged
Please, don't dare make a promise.
But baby, can I be honest?
Oh wait,
All men lie..
So let's let lust become a must
Forget that we ever tried.
Mhh
Taste of disaster
Mhh
Hearts moving faster
****...
This wasn't part of my plan
Your ego is harsh
Your mind is cluttered
Makes it hard to be your man.
(Piano)
Hard to be your man.
But I do what I can..
I matched your heart with my life
What a perfect blend.
Simple words to describe her
My stomachs become lighter
Flying high, with these butterflies
I think I might...like her.
*I Do.