My heart
Is a happy drunk
A little too open
A little too optimistic
It's over in the corner of the bar
Playing poker
Screaming at the top of it's lungs
I'M ALL IN
When it's never
To this day
Had a winning hand

My heart
Is a sad drunk
A little too lonely
A little too caught up in tears
It's over at the counter
Forcing the bartender to take its keys
Because it would rather not go home
Than go home alone again

My heart
Is a reckless drunk
A little too unbalanced
A little too impaired
It's over by the door
Making everyone nervous
A little too good at scaring people away
A little too far gone

Like you
A little too far gone
Turn your head
Shuffle away and pretend you don't notice
The breakdown of a heart
Too drunk on feelings
To know when to stop

I was never a rose,
But green
Not a chrysanthemum,
Nor an orchid
Something cut,
Walked upon
And yet,
You were the dew
And kissed me,
With a thousand moist kisses
Everynight,
Making me sparkle
In the sunrise

I've discovered Hell, and the truth is,
It isn't a place you go, it's a sickness.
It resides within your bones
And its scaffolding is made from trauma.
The only fire you'll find is from the white-hot flashbacks
That leave you drenched in sweat that smells like smoke.
No-one lives there except you and your enemies,
And your enemies are fragments of history, unable to be killed.
Your mind is the devil that subjects you to punishment
That you can't help but be convinced that you deserve,
And escape is a notion kept only for tears;
Everything else remains trapped.
Hell is being held within the cage of your own body
And killing yourself trying to break free.

My great grandmother,
passed away 10 years ago,
but last night,
she stood at my bedside.
She told me the story,
of the beautiful butterfly,
who feared to fly.  
She told me,
this butterfly was beautiful,
much more than the rest.
Her wings shone of gold,
with a deep silver hue.
She was so beautiful,
but she always wept.
She feared,
her wings were broken.
Then came the day,
when she looked
towards the sky,
only to see the
rest of the butterflies
begin to fly.
That's when she realized,
now was her time.
She stretched out her wings,
and leapt off the vine.
She fluttered her wings,
and was lost to the sky.
She had faith in herself,
and her wings
carried her just fine.

It was half past nine,
as I searched for a sign,
hoping that someday
you would become mine.
I gazed at the skyline,
and prayed for the divine,
to send you a countersign
that would detonate the mine.
I'm hoping these words
creep up your spine,
and rest lightly upon
your loving mind.
My darling,
believe me when
I speak these lines,
you are as fine,
as dandelion wine.