What is the matter with the sky?
It is raining down books like snowflakes,
they are just gently falling down, melting
into dust when one tries to read them,

And the miles to travel to those words,
the years it takes, my, what a journey.
Walking through northern Norway
with ice breaking beneath where you stand,
you feel the cold, it is sharp, it brightens
your vision and the mountains grow blurry.
You think about how it rained down books in
New York City but no one could read them.

I never said goodnight, but
I suppose I’ll say good morning.
               It’s nice seeing the stars fade out to the sun for a change.
“*******” says the sun to the stars. “Those
people don’t need to know about you guys.”
               The sun knows one day we’ll go to those stars.
               And old Sol won’t be as popular as he once was.
                                                            But *******,
                                             I want to go outside, but this
****
                              Alarm is keeping me in.
                                                                           I’ll wake up the whole house, and
Mom
                              Will worry about my insomniac sleeping habits.
I guess I’ll have to enjoy the sunrise from my dusty windows.

When it rains, I won’t be in the position
To get out of here unscathed.
As the rain falls downward, this muddy ravine
Goes higher, and I’m a young teenager again.

Mud up to my knees and twigs and leaves in my hair,
I climb on all fours on the embankment, thorns stabbing my skin.
And all I have with me is my machete, a curse and a smile upon my lips.

I’ll make it out alive mostly,
It’s the best anyone can do.
Don’t tell me I should be happy,
Happiness is a privilege, not a necessity.
And once you start smiling all the time the good
Things are not as extraordinary, your food starts tasting the same,
Colours bleed to together in such a way you don’t
Even notice what colour they were before.
And when darkness hits you’re truly blind to it all.

Whereas my lack of smile means nothing,
My scowl just an ordinary thing of life,
The grays blend together indiscriminately,
But when I see colours, they bring my eyes to new heights,
It showers me with their light.

My little darling,
Have you ever known,
You were always,
My sentient metronome?

You speak a beat,
And I follow your tongue,
You set the rhythm,
I just follow along.

My little metronome,
Lately we have had different dreams,
You have dreams of the ocean,
I’ve been dreaming of New Orleans.

I know I can never change you.
I can’t make you change your song.
I’m afraid I must leave you,
We’re just not getting along.

My little metronome,
You still set the rhythm of my heart,
Maybe in the future,
We won’t be so far apart.

And one can never know,
Where either one of us will grow,
Maybe one day I’ll turn out to be,
Your sentient metronome.

I gave you a drawing for our second anniversary.
It had a man leaving a woman who was saying “don’t go”
I bought it as a reminder for myself,
That no matter what, I wouldn’t do that.
Not long after,
reality set in,
We saw each other less and fought even more,
We were angry, frustrated, and young,
And then I betrayed that drawing,
I left,
I shot myself in the head.
Now the ceiling is coming down,
My stomach detests the idea of substance,
I try to take it day by day but my god,
Life is so boring without you,
The clock moves only when it wants to, *******,
While you’re busy chasing your dreams and other men,
If only for friendship.
I stare down at the ocean I created for myself,
Trying not to think but *******,
You’ve been in my thoughts for years, I just
Can’t let it go.
I won’t wait for you, but I’ll pray,
“Come back”.

It’s a testament to his will, that he wakes up everyday,
The cigarettes that he breaths, keeping demons away,
And of course he don’t wanna leave, but the future is now the past,
Nothing really matters now, nothing don’t ever last.

He remembers the creases in your palms,
Makes jokes about about singing Psalms,
Would look up to the stars, wonder
“Why the **** are we ever are?”

It’s a testament to his will, that he can still find peace,
It’s not like he has bills to pay, college is under lease,
Popping strings on his guitar,
Curiously falling into ever more.

He don’t believe in no Satan,
Though the world, is full of hatin’,
And no one is ever ever right,
He’s still keeping hold,
Philosophy tight.

And he still sees your kingdom ways,
Still thinking of those yellow plays,
He still don’t wanna talk no more,
Keeping busy with them busy ******.

And my how he thinks he’s from dust,
And how he’s lying about his lust,
And how he thinks you’re from light,
Just wants to fall from great heights.

It’s a testament to his will,
He’s gonna force the world to stand still,
The chance is maybe one out of three,
Of him being weightless and free,

He’ll be happy for the rest of his being,
Knowing he’s finally leaving the living.

When I feel my worse,
When my body is to burst,
I dream of you,
A poison and a cure,
How can I be sure?