Out here in the forest
I wander through the trees
in order
to unlock my soul
to feel the breeze

Still haven't found any key
not yet taken by any breeze

So I keep to walking
out here in the forest
out here by the trees

Beautiful woman
pass by

Beautiful woman
I cry

Think what it must be like to be them.
This isn't about you, making comparisons.
This begins with understanding them and their problem . 
If they aren't willing to tell you their problem,
That means that they have already established
That you have a lack of understanding about their problem.
Mental health is what I'm talking about,
Mental health needs to be acknowledged in advance,
So that they feel like they can open up to you.
Without encountering childish remarks behind their backs,
"Mentally disabled" is the wrong terminology for mental health.
This odd person has quite clearly been through a lot.
Whether it's dealing with people judging them,
Struggling to socialize, feeling isolated...
Laughing at them is not positive, in fact,
It's the most negative reaction. No love there.
But what do you love? cars, phones, latest clothes etc...
Their problems are very different to your own.
You need to look up common conditions such as Autism,
To be a better person to those around you,
Because if you don't understand, who else will?

Have you known the winter days?
Late February falls like frigid snow
Merciless undertow
Of evergreen and alpenglow
And grey ground pavement walking
Like Grocery shopping
and weak chai tea
Moonlengths from all family
And surrounded like strawbury temptation,
Late night lamp light contemplation
And drowsy-dampened mornings
Grey glaze of diluted boring
Spattered over every orifice
Charcoal eyes, platonic kiss.
Pull your bow to shoot and miss
Tell me all this is is what it is
And I will tell you, “okay”
(but you know this isn’t what I wanted)

Hide the roadsigns
Blur the guidelines
This is how I love you

Have you known the winter days?
Late February fell like fire on hell
And shook me from my sleep
Ashes cover snow-banked heaps of rubble
I slice my wrist on the sharpened stubble
Of your half-assed beard
(this is how I bleed my dear)
This is how I bear my soul
******* smile
And dominoes
Carnation cults
And buried bones
(This is how I build your throne)

Hide the gravestones
Burn the rainbows
This is how I love you.

And have you known the winter days?
Late February fallen like Lucifer to the underworld
We both knew I wasn’t altogether that typeof girl
But we pretended anyways
Alcoholic halo haze
And foreign intervention
Of somewhat insidious intention
And the legitimate logistical question
That defined our discourse on fear
(this is how I think my dear)
This is how I speak my mind
All that grey
Those missing roadsigns
Smoke and soot and
Blurry guidelines
And Gravestones gone
And rainbows ash
(and we are never coming back)

This.
This is how I love you.

I tried to create something from this,
but my piano did not bleed.

The sound that came out meant nothing in my ears.
It spoke of nothing and asked for nothing
and reminded me of you.

And now you're going to leave,
but my piano did not bleed.

It could be a million people.
It could be my demons.
It could be the problems I'm not dealing with.
It could be the people I'm trying not to think about.
It could be the thing I need to hear most.
It's almost definitely not you.
But, heaven help me, it is.

Because you are my demons.
You're a problem I'm avoiding.
You're the person I try not to think about.
And you have become the voice I need to hear most.
So on the other end of this phone,
screaming at me like an angel,
it almost definitely is you.

And, heaven help me, I'm picking up.

And your intellect is wasted.
Let me tell you, your words will lose their depth.
Because she hears them and smiles,
but they are hollow to her.
They are just an extension of you.
Just another second, third, hundredth chance at half-assed affection that won't last the week.

I wonder what will become of your words.
Of your presence that fills all spaces in conversation.
I wonder what will happen to your heart.
That is more authentic than most and so contrasts her own.
Your mind that follows no one else.
And eyes which love your mother
and long patiently for the sea.
Your head that is tighter than your hold on me.

If she manages to ensnare you
with her black lips and hungry heart,
then I will forever wonder
If she is pulling these things apart.

Bathing in the sands of lost time
I stir
Longing for more memories to drown in

As the blue fades
my dreams wither
within it

While the light of the ancient stars
breathes around us
I begin to cry against the wind
and within this dark moment
The blue of earth
takes me