her smile is a lightbulb
a vacuum inhaling darkness
her laugh is a pair of warm hands
on the loneliness
she touches not your body
but your soul

Three years later
And I still can't bring myself
To  walk that dirt driven path

With every secret,
Every whisper you spoke
Shoved under cracked rocks
And faded footsteps
Waiting to resurface

I'm half stumbling my way
To your name
And  You see,
this whiskey
It tastes like hell
But I can't help sipping
The memory of your lips

You are the rain
That drenches my paper heart
Just enough to tear
With one touch

there have been days i walked on the clouds
every syllable falling from my lips
a joyous prayer, hope from my toes to my fingertips.
there have been days when the darkness inside of me threatened to
manifest itself
with demons whispering their twisted logic
as sick as
the manifest destiny.
there have been days i picked at the threads binding my soul to
yours
wishing for a scissor to cut straight through them.
there have been days that my only solace was a book
a world
a dream of my creation.
there have been days that until exhausted
my mind wouldn't couldn't stop
running.
there have been days where your hands are all i want to hold
but i'm left with my broken
angry
heart weighing down my palms.
there have been days i wish you understood
the pain the rejection the loneliness.
there have been days of prayer
of contemplation
of watching the fire in warm darkness
your tears falling into my eyes
microscopic dots on this ocean of sorrow we float on.
there have been days that the land was sea and the sea was land
where drowning made sense
and up was down.
there have been days when i wished for eternity
for nothing
and then
both.

The reservoir of all possibilities of Existence,
We ***** altars and springs, and consecrate certain pools.
Water, equated to the unconscious by those who have waded into the
depths of the psyche.
It scribes a line between sacred and profane, life and death.
Deep and wide as the River Jordan of scripture,
Wondrous as the Spring at Lourdes,
Cathartic as tears,
Water flows as blessings.

'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
All soft and still and fair;
The solemn hour of midnight
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

But most where trees are sending
Their breezy boughs on high,
Or stooping low are lending
A shelter from the sky.

And there in those wild bowers
A lovely form is laid;
Green grass and dew-steeped flowers
Wave gently round her head.