The apocalypse was coming
I could hear it in the wind
You were my own personal hell
Waiting to rip me apart
I knew from the beginning
Why didn’t I run?

You were all lies and lust
But still I held on tight
Addicted to the feeling of
Your anger on my skin
It was better to feel pain
Than to feel nothing at all

There were moons in your eyes
Your touch got me high
The whiskey on your lips
Tasted like a flash of lightning
And you set me on fire
With every lonely kiss

And in the morning, I knew
I’d be bruised and scarred
Permanent reminders of our
Confused, twisted love
They represented your cruelty
And my ignorance

Then with delusional conviction
I would tell myself that even though
You’d ripped me to pieces and
Thrown me to the ground,
I love you in a twisted way
And you love me the same

these words spread out,
in letters left but not forgotten
on screens that light up lonely rooms

praying silently
that you will read a deeper meaning
confessions and obsessions
longing for recognition

but in the end
it's more than that

it's thirsting for
enigmatic connection
lusting after
someone
anyone
to unravel

and in turn
to unravel me

someone who won't believe me
when I'm lying to myself
someone who will disentangle
the shadowed shambles
that haunt my bones

I pine for
a soul
to comprehend the corners of my mind
to memorize the knots along my spine

in the end
I cannot fathom
why any soul would try

a candy apple red heritage soft-tail classic
on a rusted dirt road
i am built of where i've been

the mango groves
the east and west coast
and every camp-ground in canada
this map is my home
let me tuck you into the folds
and sing you to sleep
some place sweet
where the air smells of earth and rain

don't let the concrete tame you

the road under foot is not measured by the steps necessary to travel it
but the way one migrates over the breaking soil
resting between where we are and where we'll be
when our dreams run free
and the tent's set in the pines

barefoot
running shoes
doc martens
thumb to the sky
pack on my back
black top under bridgestones

let us fly

let us soar

s'go

i'll take you with me
like my sleeping bag
and skinning knife
and canteen

be the water that i drink

fuel the fires that propel this engine
drive me to the end of the road
where one can only go by foot
and feather
and foolishness

let's disappear in the fog of the north
the mud of the east
the heat of the south
the haze of the west

let's find ourselves in the topography of folded bodies
tangled up in a flesh scented tent

Soon, each of the things that I cherish the most,
like pottery formed by my hand,
will fall from its rest on the eye of a needle
and breaks into pieces of sand.

If I cannot see when the moment arrives
when something so fragile falls
from its balancing act on the tip of a pin,
will time delay for me at all?