I exist in a space somewhere between complacency and sheer panic,
With the very tangible happiness just beyond my reach.
And as my fingers yearn, outstretched and writhing, my mind wonders why bother, let go.
The fact is:
Happiness, though it may be real, was never meant for me.

You always turn the lights off before we sleep so I can conquer the dark.
When i'm with you everything is in its place, clothes, dishes, my heart.
I want to explore the world with you, I am not longer afraid of what I do not know.

You would tell me about the ocean and how it was your favorite place and about your odd fascination with storms.
But when my mind turned into a hurricane and you blew away, I started to sleep with the lights on again, hoping the ocean tides will carry you home.

Fell asleep under clouds and I woke up here.
Fell asleep under clouds and I woke up here.
With a timestamp expired under looming storms.
The bleeding Spring never leaves
the rainy shores,
When I only wanna
                         live in the Autumn
of two-thousand-and-twelve--
in the days and the hours
before my guts soured.
when my hollow heart leaked down
                          shaking legs
                   into small town streets
                   and I forgot myself.

In the dregs of my doubts.
In the bouts of a cowardly man
                                unqualified
to carry your baggage
                         from the airport in Billings
to the bottom of my parents' stairs.

You stared hard that night
through the North Dakota Winter
and suburban blight.
November air
chilled my lungs and my breathing stopped.

In my Lillingtons hoodie,
I stood sad and shivering
and watched you drive away
through an assaulting army of falling snowflakes.
                            the last words
                  that you'd say to me were--
the last words that you'd say to me were

"I hope you're happy, you stupid scumbag.
No one will ever love you again."

"I hope you're happy, you ******* scumbag.
No one will ever love you again."

Fell asleep in a glass and I woke up here.
Fell asleep by myself and I woke up here.

The weather's getting warmer
there's still static in your snowy eyes
and moonlight waxing pale shines
               a searchlight
          through this night's
humming summer city haunts
frames your face and splashes mine
with the truth that lies behind
a well-intentioned whitewash lie
                         that we care where we're going,
                         that we know what we're doing
                       and daily life don't scare us blind.

The Warden's got his dogs out,
our feet barely touch the ground.
And we're not looking back until
we hear no chasing sounds
               so sound the fox horn
and catch us napping if you can.
'Cuz we're just killing days,
running all night and foiling plans.

The silver night was spilling
quiet rainstorms on your dark red hair
and my resolve was waning there
               against those
             smiles we wrote
in that crumbling concrete hour.
'Cuz we'd never been that close
to divorcing deceased ghosts
and coming clean from mud-caked boasts
                          that our chains never rattled,
                          that we never felt saddled
                        beneath our heavy, self-sewn cloaks.

The Warden's got his dogs out,
our feet barely touch the ground.
We're never looking back again,
and we won't make a sound
               so sound the fox horn
and catch us napping if you can.
'Cuz we're just killing days,
running all night and foiling plans.

Tunneled under the walls now
it's high time we put some ground
between us and our yesterdays
that howl like baying hounds.
               We'll pound the pavement
and catch a few winks where we can.
And we'll be living days
and sleeping nights and making plans.

We planted tulips in each other,
in the night.
While the rain played in street light
We intertwined,
As old roots or Ivy.

We left marks in each other;
Like pressed limestone,
Like Rock built into churches,
Like wave weathered slate.

I move the hair from your
Noctilucent eyes.
And we arch together
Like ash or poplar.
Your lips are warm;
A sirocco in the chine of winter.

Love,
It is this.
No greater no lesser
And though the deeps of oceans
May stand between;
The between of us is neither wide, nor far
I carry you with me
For my home is built of
What we are.