Around street corners,
On dimly lit sidewalks,
She’ll come back to you.

As a burnt cigarette drops at your feet,
And you let out your last warm gasp of nicotine,
She’ll come back to you.

As you feel the cold on your bare cheeks,
And zip your sweater all the way up,
She’ll come back to you

Outside the liquor store on 8th street,
With a brown bag in one hand,
She’ll come back to you.

As she takes your other hand in hers,
And burns through you with her smile,
She’ll come back to you.

With warm brown eyes that feel like home,
And skin you could melt into at any second,
She’ll come back to you.

With her kiss,
And her sweet red lips,
She’ll come back to you.

When your head hits the pillow,
And your mind looks for its favorite story,
She’ll come back to you.

In the night.
In your dreams.
She’ll come back to you.

My dream: A juniper tree.
Giving shade, to you and me.
Where sin feels ever so sweet,
And our heart and thoughts roam free.

My dream: old cobblestone streets.
Where we feel no chill nor heat,
And you, my heart forever keeps
The old Parisian feat.

My dream: A chapel steep.
Ran down to Destiny’s deep
Grey eyes, that I see and weep.
For this dream, I stay asleep.

With the pale cracked mouth of a saint you spoke
In patterns; like all my favorite prayers,
Ave Maria, Our Father, so on.
Pray, pray, the old forbidden question.

Au revoir! Scene!

A half burnt cigarette lands at my feet.
Oh what’s it all mean? What is it to me?
The old Manhattan Opera is all filled
Up with those glowing pretty faces I love

Perfume and cologne, fur coats and bow ties.
The cool night rain douses the red embers,
I look up from it before i miss them;
The apparitions could disappear soon.

Any second! At a moments notice!
I could lose every single one of them,
And their glory, and their beauty, all gone.
Oh, but I pray, what would it be to me?

In the blink of an eye they could be light
Years away, and what would that be to me?

Row by row and row by row,
Marching too and then marching fro,
The Ancient saints, gone—gone—gone,
Into the sea’s most violent throws.

Brothers and sisters look on,
To the bare grey of the new dawn,
To however this sets them free.
Waves pull the pelican and swan,

Down into antiquity.
No tears cried, no lost sympathy.
Mary, the Lord is with thee.
Hail Mary, the Lord is with thee.

In through the nose and out through the mouth.
Over and over; repeat it ad nauseam.
Keep it up and find the way out
Breathe out Count to five out loud.
 
“One, two, three, four, five.”
Breathe in Now breathe out
Breathe out “One, two, three, four, five.”
Breathe in Now let it all out
 
“I hate that you don’t care that I’m proud of you
I hate that he loves you the way I do
I hate your good looks and reading new books
I’m gonna spin out
I think I’m gonna spin out
I hate my mind I hate my life
I hate ever not being by your side
I hate the way you think of me
I hate my walk and I hate my talk
I hate everything I ever do
God I hate being in love with you
I’m gonna spin out
I think I’m gonna spin out
I hate the mountains and I hate the trees
I hate doing things that make good memories
I hate the amber specs inside your iris’
I hate my lovers, every-one
I hate the *** and all the rest
I hate everything I ever do
God I hate being in love with you
I’m gonna spin out
I think I’m gonna spin out.”

Love isn't blind,
blind are those,
who never loved.

My heart stands still,
It makes not a noise,
My spine feels a chill,
But it stands straight with poise.

"With pride," my lips proclaim,
As my feet tentatively step off the balcony,
With eyes stet straight, and liver aflame,
My mind screams as it realizes reality.

I fall into the black night,
My lungs choke, overwhelmed by air,
My arms flail, trying to take flight,
Or searching to grab onto a ledge that isn't there.

I hit the ground; my soul still awake,
For a two story fall is not enough for a life to take.

Let us leave for foreign places
Away from this city of boringly beautiful faces

For ash filled cobbled stone streets
Fields of blooded roses and golden wheat

Castles cemented in antiquity
Crumbling walls of barren cities

Abandoned cathedrals of a bygone era
Smoke filled bordello backrooms with mirrors smudged by mascara

Let us leave before the hours turn late
And I have wasted my life awaiting fate

But I grow old
And warm dreams turn cold

How stunning you look tonight
How badly I want to tell you these words I write