I told you from the start
I disappear when it gets cold
But you found a way to keep me here
With a body to hold

And I think of you
When I am drunk in the road in front of your old house
I miss what you do to me
When I needed you and blacked out

I miss you darling
Yeah I guess I'll say it
I know I'm a fool

It's as if you are on fire from
Within
Yet still the moon lives
In the
Lining of your skin

cut the strings attached,
burn bridges between us,
paths never will cross again,
hide the tears and pain—

this my love,
the end we might—
to our love story,
i refuse to write

I want the words you do not have

I want
The
Part
Of
You
That you
Refuse
To
Give

time is
the nemesis
in our story

but i always
choose you,
my poison

Cherish the scar
that once puzzled
you to believe.

Cherish the scar
that once vexed
you to forgive.

Cherish the scar
that once broke
your heart.

Cherish the scar
that once ripped
you apart.

Cherish the scar
that once was
your haven.

Cherish the scar
for you to take
the risk again.

After a long long time I thought of opening the case
To see the broken bow hanging on the top side,
On the glossy brown body, loose bow strings slide.
Bridge collapsing under the wires is undeniable,
Strings bending to some unknown tune, unrecognizable.

After a long long time I thought of opening the case
Once, it was an instrument of love and affection.
With work, for me to learn and to master.
Over the time the passion is just gone,
Clutching and wondering what went wrong? 

After a long long time I thought of opening the case 
I hugged it tightly and I simply cried.
In a desperate need to rekindle my old flame.
I started to fit together the broken pieces,
I tried to mend the old bearings of neglect.

After a long long time I thought of opening the case 
While wiping down the dust it made me wonder.
Why we let the things we love to fall under?
As we grow old and time passes by,
Things we love the most, always pay the price.

After a long long time I thought of opening the case 
Few things we must hold on to in this life,
No matter if experiences teach you to strife.
I am learning not to forget the things I once loved,
They make you who you are, where you once belonged...

A swiss army knife in an unwelcoming God toolbox is how I would describe myself
Versatile but cheap.
Not profound at anyone thing.
Illusionism of quantity that is mistaken for quality
Many books started but never finished
A vast resume both musical and medical
Many half played sheet music
Many diplomas full of emptiness
If started but never finished adventures could be considered hoarding I would be the sickest on earth.
The addiction of rebirth, restarting, and creation swallow me whole
Me the addict of wanting to live many lifetimes
I am the backspace bar of life
The blank sheet of paper on an empty desk resting beside a newly sharpened pencil
This, the description of the feeling I so desperately crave- absolutism

My shakey addict hands hunger for words like; blank, clean, fresh

These fuel my unhealthy obsession for second chances