My thoughts are askew
When I sent you away
I went with you
But my body stayed

Every time our eyes meet
I begin to remember
What makes me, me
You blaze my embers

Extract the human
That I now lack
Show me who I am
Please, bring me back

I thought it was just me
I thought I could be better
But two can play at this game
You’re such a sly go-getter

You’ve loosened the tether
Never say never
I may just slip away
But I can’t erase the waste
Of these past one thousand days

Just one more... one more
Just one more big shove
Is this love?

It’s pudding time.

Lose your thoughts
Let down your hair
And your bra
Tap into **the electric grapevine
Let it transform you
Into your truest form
Shed your skin
&
Show off your soul
You don’t have to dance
On a phantom stripper pole
Feel the music, it feels back
The air is getting slippery
Melt with it

Wounded knee?
No reason to flee!
Face your fears,
The free and loving soul
Feels no shame
No shame - less pain,
Guaranteed;
or you're money back
But serenity is free
It's everywhere
Just breathe...

So kiss Mr. Krinkle

Right on the lips
And ******* dance
Cause it's pudding time.

A cold man in a suit sits in his intricate leather chair, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee.  He seems to be enthralled with the Sunday paper.  
The beautiful music that is flowing from his wife’s fingertips cannot pierce the thick vines that have grown over his ears after all this time.  
He does not care enough to notice that what was once a majorly cheerful tune, has grown solemnly minor.
Hours later, he is at his computer, typing away.  Probably just work stuff, probably…

He is finally stirred by a gunshot, accompanied by an inharmonious crash of the keys.  The treacherous dissonance left ringing in his ears makes him realize how much he yearns for her sweet music.
He floats nervously into the piano room to find his wife’s body, crumpled over the crimson stained keys; lifeless.

This cave is my sanctuary; cold, damp, filled with minerals and creatures.
I sit cross legged peering out through the crescent shaped doorway mama nature has created.  I have never been more at peace than I am when I’m here.  

The water crashes ******* the barnacle covered rocks beneath me.  The mist from the waves whirls its way up to sooth my aching skin.  The sea calls my name in the way that an angel calls you into the light.  
At first it’s just a delicate whisper.  The voice is so charming and playful that it begins to lure me in. As i begin to drift further, letting the voice carry my thoughts, the waves pound harder and the symphony the sea has written me rapidly grows in volume and intensity.  

The tension becomes so strong that the sky starts to erupt.  The clash of the clouds creates a prismatic light sequence leaving the sky looking magnificently iridescent. I sit unstirred, reveling in it's beauty.

The sea is now agonizingly screaming for me to succumb to its cool paradise.

For a while I just sit and enjoy the elegance of the symphony.  Once the sky starts to lower its darkened veil, I know it is time to go.  
I stand up with more certainty than I had ever felt before.  
I slowly take three steps forward, embracing the feeling of the dirt in between my toes.  
Two long strides, and then I leap.  The thick foggy air caresses my body as it swiftly careens downward.  

The symphony ends with a splash.

Cut me loose, set me free
Kind gestures to start
Weigh ******* the heart
Fake world becomes reality

Trying to be righteous
With too many rights
I can’t do it just for us
Cause I’m losing my light

I used to shine brightly
Now I’m just frightened
Of what I don’t feel for you
How does one split to two?

I’m the cold air sneaking in through the cracks
That constant itch in the small of your back
The shadow creeping around the corner
I’m a ghost in this house, a timid foreigner

I’m the dust that you wipe off of your TV
The flake of ash that lands in your coffee
The paint peeling off the rickety walls
I’m that last step you take before you fall

I’m the frostbite nibbling at your ears and nose
The thorn they never clipped off the rose
The aisle in the bookstore labeled fictional
I’m… as long as I am here, I remain invisible