It's just a few years now,
With the world drawn abreast,
Let's roll on the fray
Under a Cheshire crest.

Skipping like stones on a lough,
Towards the crystal blue West
Where we can run, love, and play,
Where we can lay down to rest.

Little, green towers shimmy and bow,
With elders to boot, with broad wooden chests
We can count the stars above their crowns at the death of a day,
In our bold little world, we'll be freed and blessed.

Within those fields, our future we'll sew
Roll on Cali, we're burning West

Roll on Cali, we're burning our home.

I remember when I saw you, walking down the street.
And I remember falling.
Both in love, and on my knees.
And out to you I was calling.

Yo rushed to me, laughter so sweet; you said it was appalling,
To see a boy as handsome as me, on the ground and crawling.
I offered aid, to repay you, took groceries you were hauling.
To that little apartment on 7th St., with the pretty yellow walling.

Three months went by and every day,
I felt like I was falling,
So that cool night, outside that door, I was surely stalling.
But in your eyes I saw myself,
Soon in bed we were falling.

I was there in bed with you the night your legs began to creak.
Cutting deep into your bones, through pain you couldn't speak.
The hospital was where we stayed, a day, then two, a week,
I really tried to smiled again, but all I did was weep.

Only months before those rings had gone,
Right around our fingers.
But now here in the hospital.
Our weakened love just lingers.

A shadow of its former self, like you and I now, too.
If I lose you, my one and only love, what am I going to do?

The apartment's dark, shadows blanket those old, yellow walls.
I think back to your soft warm hands when I first did fall.
I wonder as I turn the corner, "was it worth it all?"
But my heart did sink, as I did see,

**Your white face down the hall.

The ceiling's all wrong.
It never looked at me like that before.
No need to be cross, it's only a quarter to four.
Don't be snide with me, I'll go to sleep before long.
Who else has felt that the ceiling's all wrong?

This day feels all wrong.
How'd the Sun come up so fast?
I blinked and here I am, having a blast.
Was it someone, someplace, or maybe some song?
Whatever it was, now this day feels all wrong.

This season's all wrong.
Autumn is the most beautiful time.
But the way it is now, you'd think it's a crime,
to enjoy this weather, you really have to play along.
God, oh please tell me why this season's all wrong.

My life feels so wrong.
This bottle and this table too.
One gives me support, the other, will to push through.
I'm sitting here crying, unable to even carry on.
Why in the Hell does my life feel so wrong?

Your eyes look so right.
You're my Autumn, you beauty.
If I leave here tonight, please, by God, please come follow me cutie.
No wait, scratch that line, now it sounds very wrong.
Sixteen pillboxes empty, I'm done being strong.

This is what happens when your heart is all wrong.

I know your eyes, you lips, your smile.
A love so warm, it burns for a while.
A wick to my core, the flame travels through.
And it all leads back to that spark from you.

My match, we match, you burn, two fires in the night.
We waltz, we dance, in my dreams, under the moonlight.
So many daydreams I cannot write.
But you and me, we click together just right.

I can feel it in my core, deep behind my eyes.
I can sense it in my soul, and I must reprise.

My match, we match, you burn, two fires in the night.
We waltz, we dance, in my dreams, under the moonlight.
So many daydreams I cannot write.
But you and me, we click together just right.

It's a beautiful feeling when I see you,
in my dreams, on the street, what can I do?
You've run away from my heart like an artery.
Without you, sweetheart, why should I breathe?

It's a beautiful day when I'm with you,
but as the sun sinks down, what can I do?
To finish this off; this much is true.
*I really do *wish there was only one of you.

Stop your slinking to a stoop and your feel sad,
Cut it out.
As you anger and your anguished angst amplifies,
Cut it out.
Fight the ferocious fiery feelings of frustration,
Cut it out.
Push through the pounding pain,
Cut it out.
Take time to tinker with the throbbing troubles,
Cut it out.

Finally, finding all fixes are listed lazy and lost on you,
hindsight hinting your heart's helpless,

there is one thing you can do to help that heart.

*Cut it out

Tiptoeing across my bed, fluffy ribbons and bushels of fuzz,
whispering across my windowsill, fresh crevices , fingernails a buzz,

cotton rows of crimson, creeping through the sheets,
fire crusts my crimson crop, burning at a thousand heats,

Further up above my head, there are workings on the walls,
those were hard to make, they caused cracks, down my fingernails to fall,

All around this tiny room, like tallies for a score,
Down now, we can look to, see the new ones on the floor,

That one is from yesterday, and that one a few more morns,

Waltzing, wiping, crawling, wheezing,
I'm very thirsty now.

Hands feel nice, the dips I made,
in walls, floor, bedpost too,

Scratches here today in wood,
tomorrow made in you.

Carried like a scent on the wind,
she pulls me along quietly,
no point in fighting, I've lost.
Pushing me forward, to a red end,
love is in the air, force is present, ever so sly,
pushing, wind at my sail, don't land, it is of cost.
It doesn't get better.
It morphs, carves and twists bones and flesh, no end,
wailing and flowing from a cave in the twilight coldly,
cutting, killing, crushing, no stopping the bloodlust,
breathing into & for me, a forced life to lend,
never put to self indulgence, never boldly,
waves bleed port & starboard, tranquility's holocaust,
systematic & brutal, my ink ever wetter.

Writing is, as most hobbies are, an art when taken seriously. Perfect practice makes perfect works. Don't just write a poem or a blurb...

Wrap the vines around the ankles, pull apart the pelvis until it cracks like a pistachio. Take the loosened intestines and wring them out quickly. Lob the liver high in the air and smack it away on its way back down. Creep up the exposed vertebrate as you fish through the guts and flesh. Watch as the skin looses color, and emotion fades with last breath. Itch your fingers through the fluids, crack apart the spine. Work to the nook of the back, where hands fit snugly in hugs before. Punch holes with your nails, and tickle the lungs from asunder with your teeth. Bite and claw through the chest like a bullet through a milk jug. Feel the blood run cold now, for you've been at this for a while. Push the shoulder bones out of place, since they need not be there anymore. Feel the bone grind and pop, smooth without resistance. Watch the arms flop lifelessly and inhumanly away from what was once a body. Creep up the esophagus like a bad acid, tearing and destroying. Reach the mouth, and cut the tongue. Lob it too with the liver. Break teeth, and crack cheekbones. Finally, wriggle into the skull, wrapping around the brain, and squeezing until it falls through your hands like raw beef from the fresh chopped cattle.

Don't just write. Be wretchedly beautiful.