The little old house on the hill
with cracking floors
and withered flowers
Grey skies hang
like chandeliers
from century old ****** mansions
Romance and rot
in the panels of wood
secrets and stories
hidden in bed springs
that still ring the sound of our laughter
Yellowed curtains
once white with glow
fly outside the window
some people fear places like these
but I seak comfort
In dancing with the ghosts
who once left their print
In the little old house on the hill.

I want to be so skinny it hurts.

Ideas, ideas,
    Scribbled ink.
Ideas, ideas,
    Ideas of you.
Cursive letters
    on burnt edged paper
the blood from my rose
    staining your name
What's love without life?
    or life without love?
But what am I,
    without you?
Engrave your name
    on my lonely heart,
and pray that i'll see you soon.
    Close my eyes,
and listen,
    listen to the hushes of wind,
luring me deeper, and deeper,
    and deeper....
All the way past,
    the presence of sleep.

I am filled with death.
    Disease courses through my veins
        I swim deep down into depression
            Each breath feels like drowning
                Fourteen days, 1209600 seconds
                    Until I can sink down to the bottom
                        An endless drop to God knows where.
                            I'll watch the azure sky fly further away.
                                Where am I going?
                                     Where do I belong?
                                          Hold me close
                                               When I die.

When I was six
I looked up to you
Such love in my voice,
"I want to fly daddy."
So I glued a few feathers
To one of your shirts
I swung my arms as hard as I could,
"Get away from me child."
When I was thirteen
I started to fear you
"I have to fly daddy."
So I took a few pills
My boyfriend slipped me
"These will make you high"
But they didn't daddy.
You just called me a failure and drank with Jack
But now I'm fifteen dad.
And I'm tired of you.
So I stand at the top of this precipice
And  swing my arms like a six year old
" Hey Daddy.
I can fly"

I wonder about the boy on the park bench
He sit's on the left- I on the right,
We sit in silence waiting for our rides to arrive.
I worry that he won't be there one morning
I've developed an attachment to him.
I've noticed his scrapes and scars
and I think he's noticed mine.
It was Sunday morning,
we sat together,
no buses to take or
time to keep
But closer than usual
Our breath clouds the freezing air around us
We sip alcohol from our coffee mugs
Our lips locked, bodies steamed.
I think I am in love with
The boy on the park bench.

She isn't the girl she used to be
The sparkle is gone from her eyes
She plasters on a smile each morning
and let's lose so she can cry every night
Her voice is still smooth and beautiful
But the words that sings to drift herself to sleep
are deep and painful.
Sometimes I swear I hear her
voice picked picked up by the wind
Whispering apologies through my window
I'll never understand why she left me
But I know she's been sending me glimpses of heaven
every time I remember her.
When I think of the moments that we shared
I start to feel like I have her back in my arms
But now the memories start to fade and so do I.
Without her
I am
Nothing.