Don't you dare fall in love with me
I'll hurt you.
For selfish reasons
I'm a wolf clothed in sheepskin

Don't let me get underneath yours

I come not from a broken past
But something's happened within
A heart that avoids everything

I'll lure you in

You'll be my taste test
Chewed on and spat out
Discarded cud on the mud

Don't you dare fall in love with me
Cause I'm not broken
And can never be fixed
I'm a rose with thorned stems
Hold me and you'll bleed
Let me go...

Let me go
It's better for us.
If that's so

small talk and voices abound as
swarms of somebodies walk past.
i tune them out,
allow the words to dissolve to nothing but murmurs.
time passes slowly
sitting in a cold, hard chair,
tapping my toes and sketching stars,
writing and rewriting
the grace that I need
and stenciling it on my skin.
time passes slowly
sorting through files and answering calls and
smiling at strangers with obvious intentions,
but their surface-level adoration
only makes me laugh.
because you love what matters.
time passes slowly
my feet hit the pavement
in steady rhythm,
drops fall down my neck,
and the effort required only strains my muscles,
my mind left free to roam.
time passes slowly

and then,

i see your face,
   hear you laugh,
      touch your skin,
          breathe you in,
              curse the time,

and all too suddenly, say goodnight.

and as i walk away,
again,
*time passes slowly.

Ernest, *you  are the embodiment
of every melancholic song,
playing in the rooms of aching souls
with broken hearts.

You are the dark sky
that the sun has abandoned;
the wrinkled and weathered body
that youth forgot.

Despondently, you sit,
Day-after-day,
in that beige, aged lounge chair--
(which just like you, has seen better days)
rising from the dead,
only to scowl
about the ways in which your body has
failed you.

"Six months to live."
"Six months to live."
"Six months to live."

Six months to live*
but you're already gone
and I
can’t
bring
you
back.

What does it mean to fly?
To escape the pressures, the names, the criticisms.
But can we ever really escape them?
The memories, the pain, the questions.

Am I really fat?
How do people see me...
I know who I am, but do they?
I'm not just some girl you can pick on,
That girl is long gone.

Flying is more than escaping
It's exploring, it's wandering, it's freedom.
Finding yourself and who you want to be
The freedom to be yourself

Who can judge you from so far away?
Thousands of feet above, no one can stop you now.
They can throw as many pebbles as they want
But in the end you reach your destination.

Your wings will carry you far.
Far off to the place you're meant to be
Because no one can stop you once you're flying.

Master words play on your mind.
They affect you like a different kind.
How can letters create such scars?
For the answer you look to the stars,
but no can tell.

Raindrops imitate your tears.
Funny how they can't wash away your fears.
When did the rain become so weak?
You'll forget about it all next week.
But then it'll all come back again,
to haunt you, now and then.
"I'll fight it another day" you say,
but how close is that day?

I'm no good with words as you can tell, but I hope that these mean very well.
Love is patient, love is kind and I can't get you off my mind.
What I'm trying to say is this, I don't know how hard it is.
But if I did I'd let you know that I will never let you go.

Either way, that's still the truth and I will always be your roof
for when the rain come pouring down
and if I have to I will drown.
Just so that you can see, you mean everything to me.

So here it is, this is my song.
I hope that one day you'll sing along.
But if you can't well that's just fine, I can make it all mine.
To sing to you when you're feeling down,
to get you off the breaking ground.

And when it does then I will see, just how hard it is
really.
And when I do I'll hold you tight and not let go
for the rest of the night.

These are the moments when I marvel
at the way darkness reinvents itself
in shadows that move with moonlight
across these walls.  In this gentle hum
of white noise the promises of dreams
unravel in a ribbon of whispered syllables,
and with eyes straining toward forever
I can see the contrast between what I am
and what I could be beyond the stillness
of this room.  There are questions marks
that hang in the margins - their plea:
Let me be something more than what I am
in these hollow hours filled with not knowing
what I am waiting for.  Let me grow
into this heart and everything it holds inside.