I watched a world burn down
The greatest minds and hearts,
Where ash covered lost towns
I saw the destruction of art.

Some say it didn't happen,
Some say it never mattered,
I witnessed skyscrapers flattenend
And glass shards scattered.

I watched universes collapse
To essentially nothing but dust
And when I wanted to relax
I watched my reality rust.

I watched people destroy too many books
And too many lives
And too many universes
And too many worlds
For one lifetime

What's wrong with you, with us,
what's happening to us?
Ah our love is a harsh cord
that binds us wounding us
and if we want
to leave our wound,
to separate,
it makes a new knot for us and condemns us
to drain our blood and burn together.

What's wrong with you? I look at you
and I find nothing in you but two eyes
like all eyes, a mouth
lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful,
a body just like those that have slipped
beneath my body without leaving any memory.

And how empty you went through the world
like a wheat-colored jar
without air, without sound, without substance!
I vainly sought in you
depth for my arms
that dig, without cease, beneath the earth:
beneath your skin, beneath your eyes,
nothing,
beneath your double breast scarcely
raised
a current of crystalline order
that does not know why it flows singing.
Why, why, why,
my love, why?

Last night I thought I could live without you
Tonight I thought I couldn't live without you.
I guess I'm convincing myself for what I'm about to do...
For what I have to do....
To live without you...

To dream a chain to the Victorian Era
leave the shadows casting of isolation
where held hands held significance
and 'I love you' was not said in summation.

A rose bud grew in an arid desert
each perfect proper piece of petal
gave of its own sense of charm
and stood statically special.

I watched the rose bud picked
off the ground in asperity
while I hesitated to be heard
and I watched it crumble terribly.

I sat in desolation, in my own oasis,
I wedded the rose in my hand,
dreamt of a victorian era rose
and saw distance between two lands.

I will forever hold the rose in memory
As a reminder of the scent of last June
coerced to feel a faint of love in heart
by nothing more than conversations at noon.

When I die
You can paint my body purple
And stick an apple in it's mouth
If you want to
I really won't care

Lay me out in a cardboard box
It's going to be burned anyway
So that makes sense to me
And as I say
I really won't care

The only thing I give a **** about
Is that you take my ashes somewhere high
And scatter them in the wind
Let them fly
Free
That's all I really care about

                                        By Phil Roberts

Well the stages
Were lit for these people
And those pages,
Demanded another sequel.

The stroke of a pen,
The swipe of a blade,
Dare to do this again?
Do I let myself be afraid?

Each sequential simile,
Painted the portrait
That was given to me
of emotional anguish and torture.

While sunbathing in the shadows
I let the thoughts consume me
And as I'm alone, praying not to explode,
I remember the way that you'd hold me.

I was breathing, speaking, hurting,
a mask behind a rugged shell that was forgiving,
But under a slight gap in an undrawn curtain,
I was struggling, grieving, and tired of living.

The stage was roaring,
Viewers were watching, laughing,
And as I watched their smiles soaring,
I convinced myself to stop cutting.*
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I am not one day closer to death
I am having one extra day of living
And if I shall witness my final breath
I am leaving this world singing.