I don't know who I am anymore,
Even though I know where I’ve been.

You’re always happy, always smiling,
always the life of the party.
   But when no one’s looking,when no one’s around,
you let the sadness seep through you, out and abound.
Standing in the darkness, I see you there.
Abandoned yet surrounded, with no one left to care.

To them you are brave, strongest of them all.
But to me you, as I see you standing there.
   You are alone in the crowd, to them always faire.
  You do not stick out because you are brave...
    You stand out because you are lost.
Lost in the woods, the only difference is I like it this way.

If you let me, I could help you... I could lead you out.
You are already on the path,
          tripping, stumbling, and crashing along.
But I am here, I have always been right here beside you.
Using these blood-stained white roses,
      and their thorns, to steer you right.
   The worst is yet to come, but for me to truly help you,
To lead you to the light.
You must open your eyes, and see me first.

I know you wonder, as this story is told,
  If you have sold, your soul,
   and given yourself away to easily,
      to be lead out into the Light.
But you already know the answer, you have always known who I am,
   Have always felt a shadow here.
Open your eyes and let me in.

Sincerely,
the Real you.

I'm feeling closer.
Closer of losing my soul.
Close to a darkness of a poser.
A poser?
The love proclaimed for me, that poser.

Like the waves bursting into to the sea,
I'm fighting with all of me.

Who would think of me?
I'm coming closer.
Closer and closer.
Without any composer
I'm losing it,
Even that fighting against it,
It's winning,
Sooner, it's strong.

Sooner or later, All I will have
It's this worthless body which shames
All fire which flames
Can't erase it, from all sadness in the world.

I drafted my dreams out on a string from window to window

                                                         ­                                               Where they could see some sunshine

                So that they could feel the breeze that whipped the willow trees

                                                          ­I lay on the grass for hours hoping something would change

                                        Everything seemed so strange and sadly serene

My dreams used to be such a large part of me
  
                                                           ­                          I finished my cigarette as the wind writhed, breathing

                                    Pulled down the preliminary principles made of follies, folded them quietly

       Walked inside, adjusting my somber eyes to darker lights

                                                         ­       I open the closet door gently, hands full of my old fabrications

                             I keep lying to myself & trying to tell myself I'm
                                                             ­                                                   putting them away for
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                     *'safe-keeping'.

synapses firing
sleep, so smooth, is lost

carpet stained, walls talk
voices cleave, claw, claim

a love has been found

infer: ephemeral, impermanent
believe: indelible, predestined

bruised knuckles knock, knock, knock
and one rock, rock, rocks
back and forth

"the moon," he calls her
the moon; he claims her

a world lies between

The sea is deep but he can swim.

Creased lines in your cancer bed sheets
and red wine spills still remain
from that time you celebrated
your chemotherapy success.

Drug-blue cocktails were swapped
for beers from cans,
needles for straws and hospital-stock-
comfortable-armchairs for the advertised sofa in your part furnished floor.

Friends came with warm welcomes prepared
in the back of taxis coming from the city,
they came in wide eyed staring,
holding wine bottles remembering your once real wig of hair.

It's too cold to sweat
and I'm only cycling for a reason to be tired,
to be warm later on by the radiator fire,
to escape mad house choirs
that sing no song of comfort.

Time away from time
is how the modern stay young,
ski run routes that lead around towns
and back again through the Daily Mail nowhere-snow
that never came nor will ever come.