When you do bad things you never expect that they will happen to you

But if you believe in karma its inevitable that you'll get what's coming to you

When life becomes too heavy in reality. I display it on the sliver scene in my head

Like watching a sad film that I can't look away from. Because its just one of those nights that I want to be sad

I am no better or worse then the stars in my film. Yet I feel all their sadness all their struggle and every bit of their repentance

She's the lead role tonight, still sleeping in our bed.

She is always beautiful on the silver screen, when she smiles and plays...but tonight I'm watching a sad film

And all I see is her sadness and mine

She's sleeping in our bed next to the space that I wish I've always filled

She is beautiful in her sleep and I am tired of this film. I want too look away but my eyes are glued to the screen

I know I should lay down in the space next to her. The space that can only be filled by me tonight

She is the star of my film and we have both played our separate roles. But I am tired these old films.

So tonight I fill in that space

And as I lay there next to her, I close my eyes, cutting to black

Hoping for a happy ending

The man with the hand that is uncomfortable to hold
It is rough and sharp with no feeling really at all
Except for that spot where he trimmed at the nail
Not again he says, no no, not my nail

The clippers he used that went too deep
He only intended to keep appearances neat
To be seen like the man with the hand of a soldier
Broken and beaten, but with a veil placed over

So no one will know that he still feels pain
He grabs course rock and weilds hot flame
Forging the hand that belongs to a man
To be hard and tough this is his plan

But in that spot where he trimmed at the nail
The fire is too hot and the rocks painful
They scratch and burn at his sensitive skin
He stares at the spot where is nail should've been

Its the first true pain since he scared his skin
Remembering the hand that belonged to a boy
Comfortable to hold, gentle to touch
Able to feel every tickel and rush

His hand is too rough to touch the skin
The skin of a boy that once had been
Afraid of the pain before he hardened
He stares at the boy he cannot uncover

Unable to sooth
Unable to love
This hand is uncomfortable
Too hard and too rough

The hand of man that can't feel enough

If I grew my hair to my knees and dyed it to the color of the wind, would you still recognize him

If I pealed away at my fingers to make them look thinner, would you still be able to remember them

If I never walked into the sun again and took an eraser to my skin, just to be a bit lighter, would that be enough to disguise him

What if I even change the way I speak, a whole octive higher or perhaps lower, would his voice still be familiar

What if I make myself shorter or taller, with reconstructive surgery, do you think then you can be fooled by him

But what if

I break my nose and reshape it
   Take my lips and deflate them
      Gouge my eyes to replace them

Would that make a difference

What if I told you that you never had to see him again, that he can be different, he can be better, he could be anything

Would you believe in him





No...
But thanks for trying

the minutes turning hours
the hours passing days
the endlessness of days
waiting for time to end

the heartache of loneliness
upon the misery of time
carried out with every day
with boredom ridding my timeline

feeling the weight of eternity
pressing against the chest
endlessly presents
it doesn't regress

though weak and diminished
the spirit of hope lives on
for faith is my answer to time and love

with my minutes passing hours and my hours passing days
I live knowing that every day is a good day
just some are better than most days

That look of anticipation
Followed by hesitation

Hoping to be unchanged
Since you kept your world still

Looking for similarity
Shadowed by uncertainty

Trying to look past her
To see if you can find her

Asking if she has changed
Or if I've just forgotten

She's not the same


Am I to blam

Would you prefer
That I can never hurt you

Or, that we have the occasional opportunity to mend our wounds

So that they might be, better than before