It can only be stitched together
          with understanding
   The holes filled
               with trust
        And the missing pieces replaced
                    with love
            
             But a Broken Heart will always
                         remain *broken

in the coming months the frost will pass
leaving green blades visible and new formed dirt paths
daisies and orchids will rise beneath heaven's light
but you, the wallflower, will wilt like its still winter, crippled in dismal fright
the fear of remaining alone
the fear of not knowing when you will become like the proud flowers that stand vibrant and grown
but as spring turns to summer and the clouds disappear
the wind will pick up, and send another wallflower's pedals through the air
so poor wallflower, do not fret
your roots have the strength of 1000 roses
the kind of beauty that could be carved into statuette  
you will survive when there is no rain
because you understand loneliness and unprecedented pain
so stay calm, oh wavering friend
water will still seep through your timid veins
and your brilliance will shine, even if its tangled in your inhibited chains

It's 1:15 and I can’t sleep.
The world of dreams doesn't want my company.
My thoughts are chaotic and blank all at once
Every night it’s becoming harder and I fear
The escape of sleep will no longer be mine.
Have I become so hallow inside even my mind is left grasping at straws?
Colors are no longer vivid and music has lost its melody.
Who am I?
I feel and yet I am numb.
I've become sick of myself,
Sick of the thoughts that only tear me inside,
Sick of the actions that bring no satisfaction,
Sick of the empty life I have forgotten how to fill.
Where the night used to bring solace
Now it ignites endless cycles of self-recrimination
That burn from the inside out.
Another minute has come and gone,
Dawn approaches and life goes on.
1:15 is not giving any answers tonight.
Maybe tomorrow the night will be my friend again.

I see their faces like a blur on the window of this car.
They stay in these towns we visit before hitting the highway again,
with gas in the tank for a thousand more miles.
Memories the souvenirs that clutter the dashboard.
Guitars keep strumming through the speakers,
As faceless voices sing melodies of broken souls and forgotten lives
Held together by soft piano and sad words
That play above the rumbling of an aging engine.
As rain pelts against the windshield again and again,
Leaving the world a hazy sight only seen by headlights.
The sun lost the battle against grey clouds and a howling moon,
Tomorrow it shall continue the war.
And who knows, maybe it will win.
Maybe then the sun can end the rain,
Maybe then it will shine through the night and quiet those melodies.
Maybe then it can slow down the blurring strangers and exchange souvenirs for friends.
Maybe then can that aging engine rest and maybe then can this car find a permanent town.
Maybe tomorrow the war will end.
But the trouble is: tomorrow never comes.

you saw sadness,
and you never noticed the pain.

you heard the thunder,
and ignored the rain.

but yet you wonder,
just why you dug my grave.

you saw, my dear.

but you cannot see.

The words we don’t say
Fall to the ground like dead leaves.
To be trampled and stepped on
Barely making a sound over the wind
Of the lies we whisper;
Too afraid of the truth beneath our feet.
And when storms begin to build,
Lifting the leaves to dance around us;
Those words crawling across our tongues
Fighting to be heard.
The rain of our tears beats them back down,
And the leaves fall flat, soggy, and drenched  
To the cold, hard ground.
Beaten into silence,
To be trampled and stepped on,
Without even a crunch.
Those words we don’t say
Remain on the ground like dead leaves,
A reminder
Of dying souls we meet on these streets.