You're just a ghost, you're words are a ghost.
If I find you, you'll be a ghost.
Sitting on the curb in the suburbs of Iowa,
A ghost,
They'll toss trash past your head to the can,
But I'll know all the secrets they bled from your,
Hands,
I'll never hold them again,
I'll read through old messages,
And wonder why it had to be you,
If you're looking over my shoulder with your ghost eyes, know I never stopped loving you.

Opened up and vulnerable
There's no turning back now
I fear that I have to be able
My feelings, they just have to allow
All of the past, is just that
The past doesn't last
It's what the future holds
Like the letters of love
Only they're in bold
Outlined in silver slithers
Here I am,
Open and vulnerable
Hoping my soul does not wither

What is this three versed ****, we call a love letter. Father, son, Holy Spirit. I can't not write about the stuff that saved my life. Catholics give me headaches. Religious people, taste worse than prethrown up caugh drops. Stand, kneel, stand, kneel. Your rosery beads didn't save you, and that crucifix around your neck...you don't even know what He did. You snorted & said it looked good with my fly new outfit. You only talk to me at night, when the world & the girls have subsided.

Undress you with my smile
Uncovering all of your secrets
Giving you more definition than ever
I ease inside your mind
to find the poetry
That you've been longing to pour out
Your mouth is wired shut
At a loss for words
But baby our brains feed together
Electric volts revive one another.