Just  by the method in which you breath
you create a sort of paradise for me to live in.
You're just my kind of man,
you're a stand up kind of guy.
Now yell at me until my eyes bleed
and stare at me until my ears pop.

Breath life into this breathless song
and breed the love until it is of pure blood.
God knows I'm bad with habits.
They pile up and I can't properly feed them.
So try to be cool.

It's funny how last Sunday, I had a full pack of cigarettes.
Now, I have a nothing but the entire Joyce Manor discography .
And a horrendous headache.

I'm the only one who could ever have any fun
but that was only when I was with you.

So be cool.

I can feel it.
Falling into old habits.

I don't know how to feel.
I can actually feel the depression.
I can feel the self hate and the angst.
I can feel it all coming back.
And it scares the hell out of me.
I might just as soon be in hell
than be here.
than be me.

I once heard that "One perfect night's not enough"
and it's really ******* coming true.
It will never be enough
I will never be enough
this will never be enough.

I can feel it.
I can feel the depression pooling behind my eyeballs.
Maybe a bottle of brandy will chase it away.
Or maybe a few pills will cover it up.
Or maybe it will stay there forever
until mixed with a pool of blood
it seeps through the floorboards.

whenever there's a need,
a gap to fill, imbalance,
you find a way to help,
to pull up in your old
white toyota that we
always know is yours
by the flashy lei hung
around the rear-view --
to say "*******" to
whatever scales we
seem to be required
to conform to, and
fix everything with
your jagged defiance
(or ruin it, but that's
how it is when you're
dealing with scales).

i can't express the joy
(and relief) that hit
me harder than you
hit the brakes, when
you pulled up today;
you were all dolled up,
just enough makeup
to bring out your blues
with the single gold streak
in the left you share with
another, and to accentuate
the soft angles of humble
cheekbones, followed by
black cashmere and jeans
that kept their blue only
by the notes in navy ink
scribbled onto them like
a hundred school children
had used them as paper bits
but forgotten to pass them on.

it was a clear sky cutting
through the trees kind of day,
and we consumed it with all
the relish we could muster
in light of recent events, which
i've always thought is a funny
phrase considering the events
transpiring recently were the
very essence of dark times;
but we chose to navigate
away from such topics, even
though they were all plaguing
our minds -- like
the fact that reality has driven
mercilessly into you like an
industrial-grade nail gun;
your ash, your little light
was stolen away from you,
and even though it's probably
for the best, no one ever said
you had to be ready for that.
or like the nifty new pills
you've been taking to ****
your emotions like bacteria
and let their unicellular corpses
drip away in the shower drain;
better them than crimson from
the canyons carved into you
by the raging rivers of this life.

and even still, you retain such
goodness in you, such wisdom,
but the sandpaper hardships
have worn down your caution
and sometimes it seems like
you're ready to say "**** it"
once again and throw
the whole plank into the fire
to keep the rest of us warm.

you are more than
those memories
than the bruises on your heart

more than folded corners
marking passages
that feel like home

more than what you lack
and
more than what you have

you are
more than enough

Earth-shine in your loved one's eyes
Is all you have for memories;
Moonlight died beneath their lids,
When death did his deliveries.

And now the world's a colder place,
Though sun still shines above it,
And moon comes too, and looks upon
The graves, were made with loving.

And though the years will pass the same;
Though weeds and grass obscure it,
Their names on trembling lips will live-
As long as we endure it.