You're unstable
And it shows
Curb the highs
Raise the lows
Keep it steady
As she goes

Don't veer left
Nor go right
Do not flee
Don't try to fight
Dark at noon
Bright midnight

Do not weep
Do not rile
Walk to hell
Single file
Line goes on
For a mile

One in front
One behind
Oiled machines
Gears don't grind
Spirit's gone
Flatlined

I am the same man
in a different bedroom
where the walls are painted a different color
and the furniture is different
and the items are different
and the style is different
and the mirrors are different
yet, I stand before them
and I look the same
and the bed is different, feels different
and the woman is different
and the *** is different,
and I stretch out on the bed
hands behind my head
elbows pointed outward
looking up at a different ceiling
where sometimes
there’s a ceiling fan
staring down at me
and I think about all my little women;
some were so sweet when others were so bitter
yet each one had changed my life in many different ways
either through experience or by mistake
but, like the ***, it’s all the same in the end:
finished.

Sometimes saying goodbye to someone
doesn't nearly hurt as much
as saying goodbye to the version of you
that existed alongside them.

There was a time, I need not name,
  Since it will ne’er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
  As still my soul hath been to thee.

And from that hour when first thy tongue
  Confess’d a love which equall’d mine,
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
  Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine,

None, none hath sunk so deep as this—
  To think how all that love hath flown;
Transient as every faithless kiss,
  But transient in thy breast alone.

And yet my heart some solace knew,
  When late I heard thy lips declare,
In accents once imagined true,
  Remembrance of the days that were.

Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!
  Though thou wilt never love again,
To me ’tis doubly sweet to find
  Remembrance of that love remain.

Yes! ’tis a glorious thought to me,
  Nor longer shall my soul repine,
Whate’er thou art or e’er shall be,
  Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.

The ground has been
Trembling all day,
The sky dark
With resentment,
Holding unto
Buckets of water,
The wind screams
And throws a tantrum
In the street,
And I can’t seem
To keep the thoughts
At bay.

you say that you love me
but you don't have the heart
you don't have the wit,
you don't think in art
not like I do.

I write not for my arts sake...
I write for my hearts ache...

I write not to remind myself...
I write to re-mind myself...